


The Duxford Air Show

by flawedamythyst



Series: Seduction By Winglet [5]
Category: Cabin Pressure, Iron Man (Movies)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-16
Updated: 2014-02-17
Packaged: 2018-01-12 18:07:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 22,217
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1194555
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flawedamythyst/pseuds/flawedamythyst
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Martin and Tony go to the Duxford Air Show together.</p><p> </p><p>Thanks to Laurie for betaing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part One

Martin's mobile rang when he was on the M42, trying to convince his van that it wanted to go over sixty-five. He randomly hit at buttons until he'd managed to put it on to speaker phone.

“Martin Crieff,” he answered.

“Spitfire!” came Tony's pleased voice, and Martin felt himself smile at just the sound. Probably a good thing that Douglas wasn't around to see how besotted he was, and mock him for it.

“Hello, Tony,” he said. He did a bit of mental arithmetic and then frowned. “Isn't it really early in New York?”

“I prefer really late,” said Tony. “I've not bothered sleeping yet – too much going on. I thought I'd give you a call and get some early-morning Crieff-action.”

“It's not that early here,” said Martin. “I've been up for a good few hours.”

Tony sighed noisily. “You spoil all my fun. Can't you at least pretend that you're still in bed so that I can picture it?”

Martin's junction was coming up. “If you want,” he said, putting on his indicator. “I'm all tucked up under a duvet, wishing you were with me.”

“Nice try,” said Tony. “I can hear your blinkers. Where are you going?”

Martin tensed. He was driving half a flat's worth of furniture from Coventry to Bristol, but there was no way he could tell Tony that. “Bristol,” he said, his brain whirring. “I'm meeting up with a friend later.”

That was actually true, it was just unrelated to going to Bristol. When he got back, he had plans to have a drink with the other Martin to find out how his audition two days ago had gone.

It would be best to distract Tony before he asked too many questions. “What's kept you up? Any exciting aviation breakthroughs?”

“Nah,” said Tony. “Sorry, I've been doing strictly land-based things the last few days. I had a gala tonight – something to do with starving orphans whose puppies have cancer. I don't know, I wrote a cheque and they gave me a lot of champagne, it was a good deal.”

Now that Martin was listening for it, Tony did sound a bit drunk. Which, given his drinking tolerance, meant he must have emptied the bar. For a moment he wondered if he should say something about Tony's alcohol consumption, but it wasn't really his place.

“I'm sure they were very grateful,” he said instead.

Tony made a rude noise. “They were, but I bet I get another begging letter by next month. They think I'm an endless well of money. Well, I guess, let's be fair, I kinda am.”

Just what Martin needed. A reminder of just how different their economic circumstances were.

“Hey, you got any flights booked out this way yet?” asked Tony. “I haven't seen my favourite freckles in way too long.”

“Not yet,” said Martin. “It's all within Europe for a few weeks, sorry. Trust me, the minute I think we'll be close enough for you to fly and meet us, I'll let you know.”

“Yeah, yeah,” said Tony with a sigh. “I don't know why you had to go and be British, anyway. If you really cared you'd have made sure to live right down the road from me.”

“You have eight houses,” Martin pointed out. “Which one should I be living down the road from?”

“The LA one,” said Tony immediately. “Definitely my favourite. Although, actually, it's right on a cliff so that would be less 'down the road' and more 'clinging to the edge of the rocks'. You'd do that for me though, right?”

“No,” said Martin.

Tony made a sulky noise. “Spoilsport.”

“Sorry, I just prefer living in an actual house,” said Martin. He wondered if his attic counted as that; not that it mattered. As far as Tony was concerned, Martin lived somewhere that a proper pilot's wage could afford, not stuffed up under the rafters of a student hellhole.

“I'd make it up to you,” said Tony. “Life on a cliff in exchange for awesome blowjobs. Go on, you know you would. Oh, hey! Phone sex!”

“I'm driving,” said Martin immediately. Almost every phone call with Tony involved a moment when he tried to persuade Martin to try phone sex and Martin made a series of excuses to avoid it. So far Martin had got away with it, but he had a feeling that his streak wasn't going to last forever.

“Later then,” said Tony. “After you've met your friend and then gone home. You could call me then, seriously, any time. I am always available for phone sex.”

“I've got to get an early night,” said Martin. “It's the Duxford Air Show tomorrow, and I've got a bit of a drive to get there.”

“Oh yeah,” said Tony, “I remember. They're going to have Spitfires.”

“Yes,” said Martin, unable to keep the glee out of his voice. “Three of them! I want to get a good place for the fly-by.”

“It's okay, I get it,” said Tony. “I know where I stand. Spitfires outweigh me by miles.”

“Not quite _miles_ ,” said Martin. “It's a bit closer than that.”

“You're just saying that to-” Tony cut himself off. “Hang on,” he said, and then his end of the conversation went muffled. Martin prepared himself for the inevitable.

Tony's voice came back after less than a minute. “Got to go, Spitfire, sorry. Some sort of international incident involving Doctor Doom, and the Fantastic Four are spectacularly failing to cope.”

“Okay,” said Martin. “Be careful.”

“Always,” said Tony, which was a blatant lie, and then he was gone.

****

The other Martin was already in the pub when Martin got there. He was staring glumly at his pint in a way that Martin knew all too well. He hadn't got the part.

“How's it going?” he asked as he sat down.

The other Martin turned his glum look to Martin rather than his beer. “Still a taxi driver,” he said, and then took a long drink.

“I'm sorry,” said Martin. “I know you did a lot of preparation.”

“I forgot the name of the brand,” said the other Martin. “Two words into the audition, and I forgot the brand name. I'm beginning to think Ruth is right and I should just let it go.”

Martin didn't know what to say to that. He knew all too well what it was like to want something more than anything, and yet never able to quite get it to happen for you. If he hadn't got the job at MJN, he might well be where the other Martin was right now. Only without the wife and kids.

“How is Ruth?” he asked, rather than walk the minefield of trying to find something to say about the acting that didn't sound either patronising or false.

The other Martin brightened. “She's fantastic,” he said. “As always. It's our anniversary next week, did you know? We'll have been married six years.”

“That's great,” said Martin. “Are you doing something special for it?”

“Dumping the kids on her mother, then heading off for a weekend in London,” said the other Martin. “We're going to see Les Miserables. That's how we met, you know – we both belonged to the theatre club at uni, and they organised a trip to see Les Mis. We sat next to each other on the coach.” He gave a happy smile. “Can't believe how long ago that was now. Seems like only yesterday.”

That was something, thought Martin. The other Martin might not have had even the smallest break when it came to following his dream, but he did have a wife he adored, and two children. Martin wasn't sure what he would have chosen if he'd had to pick between getting to fly for MJN and meeting someone who made him as happy as Ruth made the other Martin.

“What about you?” asked the other Martin. “Bagged yourself an air hostess yet?”

“You've met Carolyn and Arthur,” Martin pointed out.

The other Martin shrugged. “There are other air companies,” he pointed out. “Don't you all hang out in airport lounges together, downing champagne?”

“Not even a little bit,” said Martin. He hesitated for a moment, and then said, “There is someone, actually. Not an air hostess, and it's all a bit casual at the moment, but- well. It's more than I've had in a while.”

The other Martin's eyebrows shot up. “Good for you! Tell me about her.”

Martin winced slightly. “Um. Him,” he corrected.

The other Martin blinked rapidly. “Oh, right. Okay. I see.”

There was an awkward silence and Martin rushed to fill it. “He's great,” he said. “Funny and intelligent, and he likes talking about planes almost as much as I do.”

“Sounds good,” said the other Martin, rallying from his surprise. “Casual, you said? Is it going to go beyond that?”

Martin looked down at his drink. “Probably not,” he said. 

“But you want it to,” said the other Martin shrewdly.

Martin nodded. “Yeah, it's- he's great,” he said again. “But he lives in America, and he's- his life is very different from mine. Apart from aviation, we don't have a lot in common.”

“Ruth and I didn't seem to have much in common when we met,” said the other Martin. “She was only in the theatre club because her friend was, and she was studying biomedical science and I was studying drama. It shouldn't have worked, but we just clicked together.”

Martin shook his head slowly. “I don't think it's going to work like that for me and Tony.”

The other Martin raised his drink. “Have faith,” he said. “You and me, we fight for the things we want, even when it seems impossible. And it's worked out for you – you're an airline captain. If you can do that, then you can make it work with Tony.”

“I don't get paid,” Martin reminded him. “And MJN is barely a step away from bankruptcy. It's not exactly the dream I had.”

The other Martin shrugged. “It's close enough. And who knows what's coming next? You might end up working for a proper airline. And you and Tony could end up where Ruth and I are in a few years.”

Martin let himself imagine that for a moment. Waking up every morning to find Tony beside him, ready to enthuse at him about his latest aviation breakthrough, or about Martin's freckles. Going to aviation industry shows together. Getting to take a flight with Iron Man any time he wanted it. Spending evenings curled up together, Tony working on some genius thing, Martin memorising the next section of the flight manual.

God, he wanted that so much, but there was no way it would ever be anything more than a dream. Tony was an Avenger, for crying out loud – there was no space in his life for anything as domestic as a proper relationship.

Martin managed a weak smile at the other Martin. “Can't see it happening,” he said. Reality didn't work like that, not for people like Martin. “Casual's okay, though, I'm enjoying it.”

The pitying look the other Martin gave him made it very clear that he didn't believe that.

****

They didn't stay late at the pub. Martin did have to get up early for Duxford the next day, and the other Martin clearly wanted to get back home to Ruth.

Martin walked home, looking up at the night sky and watching the lights of planes as they passed overhead. When he got in, Trish and Sonya were in the sitting room, watching some awful celebrity gossip show. Martin greeted them politely, then turned to go up the stairs to escape.

As he set his foot on the first step, he heard Tony's name, and couldn't help glancing back at the telly.

“...Tony Stark was spotted at the Help Haiti Charity Gala last night with Helga Cavellos, this season's hottest model. They looked pretty cosy together, but given Tony Stark's track record, can we really expect their fling to last the month?”

The voiceover was accompanied by shots of Tony standing next to a startling tall, emaciated woman with long blonde hair who was wearing a dress that dipped almost to her navel. Martin couldn't tear his eyes away from the way Tony hovered close to her ear, grinning that irrepressible grin that Martin loved so much while she laughed at whatever he'd said.

Martin felt a cold stab to his chest. It was one thing to tell the other Martin that it was just casual and was never going to evolve into more, but it was quite another to see evidence of that on a TV screen.

The programme moved on to some teenage popsinger's ongoing mental breakdown, and Martin turned to rush up to his room.

He sat on his bed, looking at the shabby walls, and wondered why he was feeling so crushed. He'd known it was always going to be like this. It was completely unreal that he'd got as much as he had – he should be grateful for that much. He shouldn't feel like his heart had been ripped out just because Tony was acting like Tony Stark, international playboy. They'd never said they were exclusive, after all. They were just casually dating, that was all.

It was another ten minutes before he could bring himself to move. He got ready for bed and curled up under his duvet with the Spitfire Mk IV's pilot's manual. He knew it off by heart, but he always seemed to return to it after a bad day. Tonight, though, he could barely concentrate on the engine specifications.

Downstairs, the doorbell rang and Martin curled up tighter, hoping that the students weren't having friends over. They didn't really have a handle on the acceptable amount of noise to make after midnight.

Footsteps thumped up the stairs, but he was skilled at tuning such noises out after years of living with students. When the footsteps continued up the flight to his attic room, he frowned. Who the hell-

There was a loud thumping on his door. “Martin! Martin!” came Tariq's voice. “You'll never guess who's downstairs for you!”

He got out of bed and opened his door. Tariq stared at him as if he'd never seen him before. “How the hell do you know Tony fucking Stark?”

Oh god.

Martin felt himself go faint. Tony was here, in his house, with all the students and the mess and the weird thing that had been growing in the fridge for the last three weeks.

He pushed Tariq aside without bothering to respond and pelted downstairs.

Tony was standing in the hallway, dressed in the Iron Man suit with the faceplate flipped up and talking to Sonya and Trish, who were staring at him as if he were the Second Coming.

He looked up as Martin came to a halt halfway down the stairs.

“Spitfire!” he greeted him with a grin, as if he couldn't see the squalor surrounding him.

“What-” started Martin, but his voice was so faint that even he couldn't hear it. He felt light-headed, as if the horror of the moment was enough to make him pass out. Oh god, Tony was in his life, finding out exactly how awful it was.

“Doctor Doom kidnapped Sue Storm, so we all had to head over to Latveria,” said Tony. “It took ages to sort out – I swear his Doombots get more annoying every time we fight them. Anyway, the Fantasticar was blown up, so the SHIELD plane was kinda crowded on the way back, so I got bumped to making my own way home. I figured it was the perfect opportunity to stop off here and catch up with you. That's cool, right?”

Martin couldn't stop staring. Seeing Iron Man in his hallway was like a hallucination. He didn't belong here, standing in front of magnolia walls that were covered with Blutak splodges from years of student posters, on carpet that still bore the stains from the Halloween party three years ago.

“Martin?” asked Tony when Martin's silence had gone on too long.

“If he doesn't want you to stay, you can always share my bed,” said Sonya.

That broke through Martin's shock. He glared at her. “Not necessary,” he said.

Tony beamed. “Excellent!” he said. “I've been dying to see where you sleep for ages. It's kinda hard to construct a masturbatory fantasy without any background detail, you know.”

Sonya made a weird, choked noise and Martin felt himself go crimson. That, of course, only made Tony's grin wider.

“Dude,” said Tariq in a hushed voice from the landing, where he was watching the whole thing. He sounded unspeakably impressed.

 _It's too late to hide any of this,_ thought Martin. Tony had seen the worst of it, he might as well see Martin's little attic room as well. At least there they wouldn't be gawped at by spectators in there.

“I'm in the attic,” he said. “Um. Come on up.”

“Awesome,” said Tony. He looked at the stairs and then hesitated. “Gonna take the suit off first. It's kinda heavy and I don't want to go straight through your stairs.”

By which he meant that the stairs already looked as if they were one step away from collapsing. There was a moment's pause and then the suit started sliding open, sections rolling back into other sections with the quiet whir of extremely intricate electronics until Tony was able to step out of it.

“That's so fucking cool,” said Tariq.

Tony grinned at him. “Right?”

Once he was out of it, the suit closed up again, but Martin didn't really have eyes for it. Tony was dressed only in a tight black top and an even tighter pair of trousers that were made out of some very expensive and extremely clingy material, clearly designed to fit snugly under the suit. Martin couldn't take his eyes off the curve of Tony's biceps, particularly not when Tony leapt up the few steps to him, took his head in both hands, and gave him an extremely thorough snog.

Martin was only distantly aware of the disbelief from Tariq, Sonya and Trish.

“It's really good to see you,” Tony said.

Martin just nodded. He wasn't sure he could manage words right now. He did find himself gripping Tony's hand, as if just holding on tight enough would make his horrible shared house melt into something far more respectable.

“Your room,” prompted Tony.

Martin nodded again and turned to go up the stairs, but he didn't let go of Tony's hand.

“Oh,” said Tony over his shoulder to the students as they headed upstairs, “don't bother trying to get into the suit. It's got some pretty cool anti-theft systems, and there's only one warning before the fatal electric shock.”

Trish, who had been creeping closer to the suit with an outstretched hand, stopped dead.

“Oh, _way_ cool,” said Tariq.

Martin was too distracted by the rising panic to pay any attention. Oh god, Tony was _here_ , looking at Martin's life, judging his home and probably wondering what the hell was going on. What on earth was he going to tell him?

****

****

Tony was beginning to think that dropping by at Martin's had been a mistake. Martin was so pale that Tony was trying to remember what you were meant to do when someone fainted and he didn't seem able to manage more than two words at a time. He led Tony up to a cramped attic room that made Tony glad that he wasn't Thor-sized and then just stopped in the middle as if he had no idea what to do next.

Tony knew exactly what to do next. He stepped closer and put his arms around Martin, pulling him into a long kiss. “Been too long since I've done that.”

Martin looked slightly more steady, but not by much. “You did it downstairs,” he pointed out.

“Exactly,” said Tony. “That was two flights of stairs ago!”

He kissed Martin again before he could respond, taking advantage of the fact that Martin was only wearing pyjamas to get his hands underneath his top and onto some skin. That had the satisfying effect of making Martin melt against him, apparently putting aside all his fears in favour of getting his hands on Tony's ass. Tony approved of his priorities.

He took a moment to gauge the distance to the bed, and then started to push Martin towards it. 

“Not that I don't really like these PJs,” he said, pulling at the cartoon aeroplanes that covered Martin's top, “but how about we get you out of them right now?”

Sex always made Martin's fits of panic melt away into sexual confidence and besides, it really had been way too long since Tony had tasted the skin over his favourite freckles.

“Sounds like an excellent idea,” said Martin, and he peeled the shirt off in one go.

Oh yeah, that was what Tony liked to see. He bent his head to the first of Martin's freckles and started re-familiarising himself with them.

****

He didn't get a proper look at Martin's room until nearly an hour later, when they were relaxing in the afterglow, pressed close together on Martin's tiny bed. Tony tried to keep his scrutiny subtle, given how tense it had made Martin to have him here at all, but he couldn't help focusing on several key aspects.

“What's the map?”

Martin rolled over to look at the world map covered with coloured stickers that had pride of place on the opposite wall. “Blue dot means I've landed at an airport, red dot means I've taken off,” he said.

There were dots all over the globe, but they were grew more numerous as you got closer to Fitton. Tony ran his eye over the States. “You need to come back to LA, then,” he said. “You need to take off.”

“You'll have to tell Carolyn to find someone to pay us to go there then,” said Martin. He was growing tense again, despite Tony's hand stroking lazily along his arm.

Tony wondered if he was waiting for Tony to comment on the rest of the room, or even the rest of the house. There was clearly some story here, something that Martin had been keeping a secret from him. He hadn't even hinted that he had room-mates, even when Tony was whining about the nightmare of sharing his living space with other people.

Apart from the bed, there was a flimsy wardrobe made out of some cheap plastic fabric that contained mostly uniforms, a desk with a computer that Tony was pretty sure should be in a museum, and a small bookcase that was stuffed almost beyond capacity. He couldn't see many of the titles from where he was, but he was pretty sure they were mostly flight manuals. Martin was pretty predictable sometimes.

All-in-all, it was kinda depressing. No wonder Martin was so focused on flying if the rest of his life was like this.

And that raised some interesting questions. Why was Martin living like this? This looked like the life of a student, or someone living on the edge of poverty. Surely an airline captain, even one for an outfit like MJN, should be able to afford better?

He turned back to Martin, moving onto his side so that he could crowd in closer. Martin was looking at him with an expression that would have looked more at home on a man about to be condemned to death. It made Tony want nothing more than to kiss him until he never looked like that again, so he did. No point in asking questions that Martin didn't want to answer.

Martin slowly relaxed under him, and then he let out a quiet sigh. “When do you have to leave?” he asked.

Tony shrugged. “I'm officially off on superhero business,” he said. “Pepper's not gonna blow a gasket if I'm not back immediately. Besides, you spent so much time talking about your air show tomorrow, I want to tag along.”

Martin blinked at him. “You want to come to Duxford?”

“Sure,” said Tony. “Get to see you getting hot and bothered about Spitfires? Hell yeah.”

Martin's face relaxed into the first proper smile he'd had since Tony arrived. “No one's ever wanted to come to Duxford with me before.”

“Idiots,” announced Tony, and bent to kiss Martin again. That was much better. He'd keep him happy and relaxed with thoughts of the air show and then, maybe, he'd find a way to ask what was going on while they were there. There had to be some reason for all this and once Tony knew what it was, he could start working on how to fix it.

****

They got up what would have been insanely early if Tony hadn't still been on New York time. As it was, his body clock was so confused that it had no idea whether to be awake or asleep.

“We want to get there before the queues really build-up,” said Martin.

“Right,” said Tony, slumped on the edge of Martin's bed. He yawned. “Don't suppose there's any hope of coffee?”

Martin's face said it all. “Yes, of course, well, that is, I mean, there is coffee but it's not- you probably won't really-”

Tony cut him off. “Martin, as long as it's got caffeine in it, I really don't care what it tastes like.”

Martin gave a series of jerky nods. “Right, okay,” he said. “I'll make some. Um. If you want a shower, it should be empty. Most of the students don't get up until later.”

Showering in a student bathroom had to rate pretty highly on Tony's list of unpleasant experiences. No wonder Martin always spent about four hours in the shower when he stayed at Tony's.

Halfway through, he was treated to a banging on the door. “Hurry the fuck up! I've got a lecture!”

“Hold your horses!” he called back.

When he left the bathroom, wrapped in one of Martin's tiny towels, he was greeted by a scowling young man who hadn't been amongst those who greeted him the night before.

“Who the fuck are you? What the fuck-”

His eyes fixed on the arc reactor in Tony's chest and his voice faded away. His eyes darted back up to Tony's face, and Tony gave him his best PR smile.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” said the student.

“Tony Stark, actually, but I don't mind that as a nickname,” said Tony. He swept past and headed back up the stairs to Martin's room.

Martin had brought the coffee up and was perched on the edge of his desk, nervously eyeing the clock.

“Don't stress,” said Tony. “Nearly ready to go. Just wondered if I could borrow some clothes.”

Martin stared at him, then glanced at his wardrobe. “Oh, I don't- I'm not sure anything I have is up to your standards.”

“My standards?” said Tony. “At this point, my standards are pretty much the gear I wear under Iron Man, which got drenched in sweat yesterday – that armour is like a sauna, seriously – or this towel, which I'm pretty sure isn't really accepted attire for an air show.”

“Uh no,” said Martin. He twitched nervously and added, “I rather like you dressed like that, though.”

Tony greeted that with a beaming smile, and then went over to Martin's wardrobe and started to go through it. Any of his trousers would be fine, but his shirts were all designed for someone with a smaller chest than Tony. Eventually, he found a t-shirt that said Remove Before Flight.

“Douglas gave that to me,” said Martin quickly. “As a joke.”

“It's perfect,” said Tony, and pulled it on.

It was a bit tight, but from the way Martin's gaze stayed on Tony's chest, that wasn't a bad thing. What might end up being a problem was that the material wasn't thick enough to hide the light of the arc reactor, which wasn't exactly stealthy when it came to avoiding being recognised. Well, it looked like it was going to be a sunny day, maybe it wouldn't be so noticeable in the sunlight. 

“Okay,” Tony said, picking up his coffee and taking a swig. Martin hadn't been lying about the quality of it, but Tony managed to keep the distaste off his face. “We all ready?”

“Uh, yes,” said Martin, tearing his eyes away from Tony's chest.

They went downstairs to where Iron Man was still standing in the hallway. In the sitting room, Tony could see the student from earlier today and one of the ones from last night huddled together, talking in hushed tones. When Martin and Tony came down, they stopped and stared at Tony.

Tony ignored them. “Course this might be a problem,” he said, smacking the chestplate of Iron Man.

There was a whirring noise and JARVIS spoke. “Emergency Theft Protocols Initiated. Please do not-”

“Can it, JARVIS,” said Tony. “It's me.”

JARVIS powered down. “Good morning, sir. Miss Potts has asked me to-”

“Don't care,” interrupted Tony. “Tell her I'm on holiday today.”

“Yes, sir,” said JARVIS with disapproval. Tony ignored him.

“I don't suppose your car is big enough to take the suit?” he said to Martin. “Maybe we can put it in the back seat or something?”

“That won't actually be a problem,” said Martin. “It's – I don't have a car, I have a van.”

A van? Why did Martin have a van? Martin was looking twitchy again though, so Tony didn't ask any questions. “Okay, awesome, we'll just load it in the back and then it'll be right there if I need it.”

Martin's eyes widened. “Why would you need it?”

Tony shrugged. “No idea, but something always seems to happen when I'm least prepared for it.”

“Oh,” said Martin. He looked as if that was going to be a cause of major panic, so Tony forestalled it by giving him a kiss. It worked extremely well, even if the students in the sitting room did start whispering again.

Martin's van was pretty battered. It was plain white, but Tony could see the shadows where letters had once been, spelling out _Dave Crieff, Electrician_. Ah, a family heirloom, then. Tony could respect that, even if his fingers did itch to get under the hood and sort out whatever made the grinding noise when Martin turned over the engine.

“This is cool,” said Tony as they set off. “Don't think I've ever travelled in a van before. Well, I have been tied up in the back after being kidnapped, but that hardly counts. It's way more comfortable up this end.”

Martin's shoulders tensed up. “It's not really on the same scale as your cars.”

Tony snorted. “Martin, I'm not so naive that I think my cars are any kind of normal measure for vehicles.”

Martin just jerked a nod, but he didn't relax at all. Tony remembered how happy he had been about Duxford on the phone yesterday and wondered what he could do to bring that back, given that he'd clearly ruined it just by turning up.

It had seemed like such a good idea, too. Martin always sounded so pleased whenever Tony rang, and was just as eager as Tony to arrange plans to meet up whenever they could manage it. How was Tony supposed to know that Martin didn't want him around when he was home?

****

It took about two hours to get to Duxford, most of which Tony spent letting his mouth run off about whatever shit came into his mind and watching the care and attention that Martin gave driving. He didn't think they went a single mile over the speed limit the whole way.

Martin didn't join in the conversation very much, but he did relax after the first twenty minutes, and after about an hour, he revealed that there were jelly babies in the glovebox, which Tony very much approved of.

“I'll have to feed them to you, of course,” he said, opening the packet. “Can't risk you taking a hand off the wheel, terribly dangerous practice.”

Martin managed a laugh. “You'd know all about dangerous practices, of course.”

“Yep,” said Tony with satisfaction, and he held a jelly baby up to Martin's lips.

Martin shot him an amused sideways look, but obligingly opened his mouth and let Tony feed it to him. Excellent, Tony would have him happy and having a good time in no time.

The traffic was pretty bad getting into the air show. Tony tried to remember the last time he'd had to line up for something, especially something as commonplace as a parking space, and failed.

“This living like a normal person is kinda tedious,” he said as Martin inched his van forward another foot and then stopped again.

Martin flinched and Tony immediately felt like kicking himself. Right, of course, only a dick would bitch about living like a normal person when on a date with his- his, uh. His buddy? With dates and flirting and lots of sex? Was there a word for that? He'd have to ask Pepper, she'd know.

“Course,” he said as Martin managed a whole two feet before stopping again, “I bet it makes finally parking seem like a minor triumph.”

“Sometimes,” said Martin. “Sometimes it just makes it feel like an anticlimax.”

“Nah, not this time. This time it's followed by Spitfires,” said Tony.

An automatic smile crossed Martin's face at the mention of Spitfires. “True,” he said.

Right, thought Tony. That's what he needed to build on.

“You know what other planes are flying today?”

“A Hawker Hurricane, a P-51C Mustang, a P-47G Thunderbolt, a B-17G Flying Fortress, a couple of L-4A Grasshoppers, C-47A Skytrains, De Havilland Dragon Rapides, an F-86A Sabre, a Hawker Hunter T7 and of course, the Red Arrows's Hawk T1s,” rattled off Martin, almost without breath. “Seeing the Hurricane, Mustang,Thunderbolt and Spitfire fly together is going to be amazing, of course, but I think the Sabre display is going to be good as well.”

“Yeah?” prompted Tony, too busy watching the way Martin's eyes lit up when he talked about planes to try for a more intelligent response.

“It's the first public North American F-86A Sabre display for over a year,” said Martin.

 _He has that expression when we're having sex,_ thought Tony. Should he take offence at being on the same level as aircraft? Probably not, given how deeply Martin felt about planes. It was practically a compliment.

They moved forward a little further and were finally actually in the parking lot.

Tony cheered. “Getting closer!”

Martin glanced at him. “You wait until we have to try and get out of here at the end.”

Tony made a face. “Maybe I'll just put on the suit and blast a path free for you,” he said. “Gotta be useful for something, right?”

“Other than destroying Doombots and saving Sue Storm?” asked Martin, turning into a space.

Tony shrugged. “Not really the kind of thing that's useful on a day-to-day basis,” he said. “Well, unless you're Sue Storm. I swear to God, the only person who gets kidnapped more often than her is Clint, and I know he only does it cos he gets bored.”

“I can't imagine being bored enough to get kidnapped,” said Martin, turning off the engine. “Okay, we made it.” He glanced out of the window, looking up at the sky. “Nothing's flying yet.”

They left the van and headed for the entrance. Martin spent more time staring at the sky than he did looking at Tony but Tony couldn't bring himself to care, not when Martin was wearing an expression filled with pleasure and anticipation.

There was a line at the ticket desk and Tony got to experience the strangeness of waiting for his turn again. Christ, lining up was dull. Why the hell did normal people put up with it?

“This is a popular show, right?” he asked.

Martin nodded. “Duxford is one of the biggest air shows of the season.”

Tony hadn't considered that there might be a season for air shows, although he guessed that made sense. No one wanted to watch planes when it was raining. Well, Martin probably would. Tony kinda had the feeling Martin would watch planes in a blizzard, if he had the chance.

When they got to the front of the line, Martin handed over a piece of paper that Tony realised was booking confirmation for a ticket. “And, uh,” said Martin, pulling out his wallet, “One adult, please.”

“Hello, Martin,” said the man at the desk with a smile. “You're a bit late getting here, for you.”

Martin gave a little shrug. “It was a later start than usual.”

“My fault,” said Tony cheerfully. “We haven't missed anything though, right?”

The man behind the counter gave him a bland smile that meant he hadn't recognised Tony. Excellent.

“Oh no, I just know how Martin likes to be here as early as possible,” said the man. “Now, you've got your prepaid ticket, of course,” he said to Martin, handing over a ticket to replace Martin's print-out. “And then one adult.” He gave Tony another smile and Tony thought that if he was this slow with everyone, that could easily explain the speed of the line.

“Are you a Friend Of Duxford?”

“'Friend' seems a bit strong,” said Tony. “We've only just met, but I'm sure he's a real great guy.”

“Just an ordinary adult ticket,” said Martin.

“Twenty-seven fifty, then,” said the man.

Martin winced, but opened his wallet, and Tony abruptly realised he was being a dick. He'd seen just how tight things were for Martin, for whatever reason. He couldn't let him pay for Tony's ticket just because he'd shown up out of the blue.

“Hey, no, I'll pay,” he said, patting his pockets for a moment before realising that his wallet was in his jacket pocket, in New York. Crap.

“It's fine,” said Martin, pulling out a card and handing it over to the ticket guy. “Completely fine.”

The tone of his voice couldn't have made it more clear that it wasn't fine. Tony tried to translate thirty pounds into dollars to work out how much it wasn't fine, but gave up when he realised that not only did he not know the exchange rate, but he also had no idea of money in the sort of real terms that gave it worth. He'd just have to make it up to Martin somehow.

Martin handed Tony's ticket to him with a tight smile and they walked through the giftshop to Duxford itself.

“This is cool,” said Tony, looking around at the airfield, surrounded by several large hangars and starting to fill up with visitors. The sun was getting hot overheard and he put a hand up to shield his eyes. “When does the action start?”

“Not for a couple of hours,” said Martin. He was starting to look twitchy again. Tony wondered what he could do to get the relaxed version back. Make out with him in a dark corner? Oh, wait, no, make out with him in a plane. They'd never done that. Tony had a sudden idea of just how excited Martin would get if given the chance to join the Mile High Club, and immediately added it to his To Do list.

“Awesome,” he said. “So, what's the plan? Find a good spot and settle in?”

Martin hesitated. “If you want,” he said in a tone that meant he'd had other plans.

“Oh, hey, no,” said Tony. “I'm the one gatecrashing your day. What would you be doing?”

Martin gave a little shrug. “I usually go to the hangars first and see if they've changed any of the displays.”

“Then that's what we'll do,” said Tony. “Come on, I've never seen any of it. You'll have to show me your favourite.”

Martin's eyes lit up. “Concorde,” he said immediately, and then backtracked, “Oh, no, maybe the Harrier. And the Tiger Moth is really well restored.”

“They got any new planes? I like a look at the competition,” said Tony.

“There's a Eurofighter,” said Martin, a bit doubtfully. “They're a museum, though, not a trade show. You might find it a bit dull.”

He looked worried again, so Tony put his hand on the small of Martin's back. “You gotta know where you're coming from to know where you're going. Come on, show me. Wow me with specifications.”

Martin did just that. He knew all the technical specs of every plane in the hangar off by heart, rattling off engine numbers and maximum speeds as if it was common knowledge. Tony was very impressed, and more than a little turned on. Well, now he'd managed to get Martin happy again, they could find an unattended plane or something. There had to be somewhere in this place that a couple of guys could get up to no good in.

****

****

Duxford was even more fun when you had someone with you. Martin couldn't believe how much better it was to talk to someone about the minor restoration that had been done on the Avro Vulcan since the last time Martin had seen it than just to note it to himself. Martin had been worried that Tony would get bored of Martin talking about planes, like everyone else usually did, but he seemed to genuinely enjoy it as much as Martin did. The further around the hangar they went, the closer he stood and the more casual touches he pressed to Martin's back or shoulders, until Martin had to remind himself that Americans were just more touchy-feely, and it didn't actually mean anything more than that.

Still, by the time they'd inspected the Virgin Atlantic Flyer balloon and Martin had given his opinion on hot air ballooning (what was the point of just drifting?) and Tony had given his opinion on Richard Branson (no fun at a party), Martin was starting to wish he'd woken Tony a bit earlier that morning so that they'd had enough time for some sex. For a brief moment he considered the idea of finding somewhere to do it at Duxford, but the very thought seemed sacrilegious.

“What's the plan now?” asked Tony as they reached the hangar's exit. “There are more displays, aren't there?”

Martin looked at his watch. “We won't have time for them, I'm afraid. The display will start in a bit. We need to find somewhere with a good view to sit. And some lunch,” he added. He'd made himself a packed lunch last night, before Tony arrived, but he'd left it in the fridge at home. Damn, he'd have to pay extortionate prices for food from one of the stalls for them both. More money he couldn't really afford, on top of Tony's ticket.

 _It's worth it,_ he thought. _How often does anyone, let alone someone like me, get to take Tony Stark out for the day?_ He'd just cut back a bit over the next month.

“Hey, Martin!” called a voice, and Martin turned to see Luke walking over. “I thought I'd see you here today.”

Martin knew quite a few of the employees at Duxford now. He'd been coming since he was very young and had been on his own for all those visits after he was fourteen, when his parents decided he was old enough to come on his own. He tended to get chatting to the staff members about the various planes on display and how they kept them in good condition. Luke was one of the ones who got engaged in the conversation, rather than making excuses and running away.

“I wouldn't have missed it,” said Martin. “It's going to be a good one this year.”

“Oh yes,” said Luke. “The Eagle Squadron is going to be really impressive.” He glanced at Tony with obvious curiosity, and Martin gave in.

“This is my friend Tony, Tony this is-”

“Oh!” gasped Luke, his eyes widening with sudden recognition. “Tony Stark!”

“Guilty!” said Tony cheerfully.

“You designed the Starkjet!” said Luke.

Tony looked blank and then laughed. “Wow, you really are amongst your kind here, aren't you?” he said to Martin.

Martin wasn't sure what to make of that. Was he being mocked?

“I can't believe you're here! At Duxford!” continued Luke. “Does Adam - the Events Manager - know? He'd be stoked.”

“Ah, I'm a bit incognito today,” said Tony. “Just hanging with a buddy, you know.”

Luke looked at Martin. “I can't believe you're friends with _Tony Stark_. And you never said!”

Martin tried to laugh that off. “Oh, you know. It didn't really come up.”

Luke snorted. “If I was friends with the man who came up with that winglet design, I'd make sure it came up in every conversation,” he said.

Tony laughed. “Always the winglet design,” he said. “Man, I can't believe what a draw that is, with the right people.”

“I can't imagine it works with Helga Cavellos that well,” said Luke. “Sorry, just, I saw photos of you with her in the paper this morning.”

“Oh yeah, Helga has other interests,” said Tony with innuendo heavy in his voice and a wink.

Martin felt his blood go cold and then immediately told himself he was being stupid. There was nothing in that statement that he hadn't already known. He and Tony were only dating casually. Of course he was going to be sleeping with supermodels as well, he was _Tony Stark_. That was what he did.

“I bet,” said Luke. “Man, I can't believe Tony Stark is here!”

 _You're repeating yourself,_ thought Martin, uncharitably. He'd been having a great time with Tony, and then Luke had come over and reminded him that he wasn't just having a good time with a bloke he was dating, he was with Tony Stark and that was very different.

“Oh, Martin, you know what? I bet if I told Adam that Tony Stark was here, he'd offer to let the two of you watch the display from the Control Tower.”

Everything went silent. Martin stared at Luke, barely able to comprehend those words. Watch the display from the Control Tower? Oh. Oh, god, that would be- He couldn't even begin to comprehend it.

“Oh,” he croaked out. “That would be- Yes.”

Luckily, Tony took over before Martin could make an idiot of himself. “That would be great,” he said, putting a hand on Martin's back as if to support him. Martin had come over a bit faint and was grateful for it. “We're just heading to get some food, but if you could arrange that, that'd be fantastic.”

He gave Luke his brightest celebrity smile and Luke visibly melted at it.

“Oh, yes,” he said. “I'm just- I'll find Adam and talk to him, and then come find you. By the food stalls, right?”

“Yep,” said Tony. “Looking forward to it. Come on, Martin.”

Martin managed a garbled goodbye to Luke as Tony steered him away, but wasn't up to much more. In the Control Tower! Where the commentator and the airfield manager would be!

“You okay?” asked Tony once they got outside, giving Martin a worried look.

“The control tower!” Martin managed.

Tony laughed. “Yeah, I figured,” he said. “Keep calm, don't want you having a heart attack before you get up there.”

Martin reached out and clung to his biceps. “The control tower!” he repeated, not capable of more.

Tony beamed at him. “You're cute when you're like this,” he said. He glanced both ways then leant forward and pressed a kiss to Martin's lips. “Come on, let's get some food. I'm starving.”

The kiss did not help with Martin's discombobulation. Tony led him away towards the food stalls and Martin just let him, wondering if he'd ever be able to explain how incredible this felt.

“I want something incredibly greasy,” said Tony. “Oh, burgers. Perfect.”

He pulled Martin into a queue. Martin caught sight of the control tower and a thrill of excitement ran through him. He couldn't stop himself from reaching for Tony's wrist and clinging on. “The control tower!” he said.

“I know, Spitfire,” said Tony, patting at his shoulder. “I know. Come on, pick something to eat.”

It took Martin a moment to collect himself. He looked at the rather short menu on the stall, and then at the eye-watering prices. Christ.

He pulled out his wallet, thinking about how much cash he had in there. “Ah, just some chips will do me,” he said, trying to ignore his stomach's urgent demand that it get more than that.

Tony gave him a worryingly perceptive look. “And if I told you this meal was on me?”

Martin felt himself grow tense again, and wondered how long it would be before Tony finally asked the questions that were clearly on the tip of his tongue, and any respect he currently had for Martin vanished like smoke. It felt like he was waiting for an axe to fall. The anticipation was almost worse than the final event would be. After all, he'd always known that Tony would eventually go off him, he just hadn't foreseen it happening like this. Why the hell did he have to come to Fitton?

“You don't have any money on you,” he pointed out.

Tony shrugged. “One phone call, and Pepper will transfer the costs of today straight into your bank account. Only seems fair, as I turned up out of the blue on you.”

“It's fine,” snapped Martin, gripping his wallet harder. The last thing he wanted was to be _pitied_ for his financial state.

“Course, I could always get her to transfer a bit more than that,” added Tony. “You know, if you needed it.”

Anger exploded in Martin's stomach, washing out the shame. “I do not need you to _pay_ me for my time,” he said. “I'm not _prostituting_ -”

“No, no, hey, no,” interrupted Tony, holding up his hands. “Not what I meant at all. Just saying – I've got potloads, and I really don't mind helping my friends out.”

“I don't need help,” said Martin through gritted teeth. Things might be tight, but he always managed. He wasn't in debt to anyone and he wasn't about to start being so now, not even to Tony.

“Okay, okay, fine,” said Tony, clearly giving up on the conversation. They reached the front of the queue and he looked up at the man behind the stall. “We'll have two burgers and chips, please, one coke and a- Martin, what drink do you want?”

“I've got water in the van,” said Martin. Paying for drinks was a completely unnecessary expense when you could get it free from a tap. “And I told you, I don't want a burger.”

“And I told you, I'm paying,” said Tony. He looked back at the server. “Another coke, then, I guess.”

“Tony,” hissed Martin. “Stop it.”

“No,” said Tony. He plucked the wallet from Martin's hands. There was a brief scuffle as Martin tried to keep hold of it, which Martin lost rather badly.

“Seriously, Martin, this is not worth fighting over,” said Tony. He opened the wallet and handed two tenners over to the man behind the stall. Christ, that was Martin's entire food budget for a week gone.

The server handed the food over to Tony, and he handed it to Martin, keeping hold of Martin's wallet instead. “Come on, let's find somewhere to sit.”

Martin glared at the back of his neck as they walked over to a clear patch of grass. 

Tony pulled out his phone as they walked, and dialled a number. “Hey, Pepp? I need a favour. Can you transfer twenty pounds into this account for me?” He rattled off the account number and sort code on Martin's card, ignoring the way Martin hissed at him to stop it. “Oh, actually, add twenty-seven pounds fifty to that as well for me? Thanks, you're great.” He made a face. “Yeah, yeah, I know. Tell the board to just- No, seriously, Pepper, come on, it's- oh, wait the signal's breaking up, can’t hear you, got to go, sorry.” 

He hung up, and then sat down on the grass and gave Martin a happy smile that Martin didn't return.

“Okay, now you're being silly,” said Tony. “Sit down and eat some lunch. It's not like I haven't bought you lunch before.”

Martin did sit down, putting the food between them but not touching it yet, despite how eager his stomach was for it. “This isn't the same,” he said. “I don't need you to buy me food.”

“I never said you did,” said Tony, reaching out for one of the burgers and tucking in. “But it's the least I can do for ruining your plans by turning up uninvited and spoiling your day.”

That put a dampener on Martin's anger. How could Tony possibly think he'd spoiled Martin's day? He'd never had as much fun at Duxford as he had today, even with the axe of Tony finding out about his pathetic financial state hanging over his head. He couldn't believe how much better it was to have someone with him who he could share his favourite planes and aviation details with, someone who seemed to enjoy it as much as he did and who then told him how cute he was when he got over-excited, rather than how weird he was.

“You haven't,” he said. “You- It's great having you here. Really.”

“Right,” said Tony. “Then eat your burger and stop complaining when you could be telling me which historic aspects of aeroplane design you think are due for a renaissance. I'm thinking about getting a bit classic with the next Starkjet.”

That distracted Martin from all thoughts about their comparative wealth as they got engaged in a detailed analysis of aeroplane design through the ages. By the time Luke found them, Martin had completely forgotten to worry about Tony finding out that MJN didn't pay him. Every time he and Tony got to talking about planes, it was as if the rest of the world disappeared completely, until there was nothing left but aerofoils and empennages. 

There was a natural pause in the conversation and Tony sat back, leaning on his elbows and turning his face up to the sun. “Can't get over how hot it is today,” he said. “I thought Britain was nothing but rain and fog.”

Martin laughed. “It is often enough,” he said, and then had a thought. “Oh damn, I left my suntan lotion in the van. I'm going to burn.”

Tony glanced over at him. “Can't have that. Red skin would totally clash with your hair, it would be a fashion tragedy.”

Martin snorted. “Because usually I'm so fashionable.”

Tony gave him a smirk. “A man in a pilot's uniform is always in fashion,” he said. “Not to mention sexy as hell.”

Maybe a man in a pilot's uniform that wasn't made of polyester, thought Martin, but he didn't say it. If Tony was misled enough to find Martin even a little bit good-looking, the last thing he should do was break the delusion.

There was a quiet moment, during which Martin turned his face to the sun and shut his eyes, thinking that he should stand up and take their rubbish to a bin in a minute.

“So,” drawled Tony, “are we going to talk about it?”

“Talk about what?” asked Martin, opening his eyes to look at Tony but only seeing the bright after-image of the sun.

“Why you're living in a student house and worrying about the cost of a burger,” said Tony.

Martin tensed up. “No,” he said. So much for finally letting himself relax and enjoy himself.

Tony sighed. “C'mon, Martin, don't be-”

“It's none of your business,” snapped Martin.

“Sure it is,” said Tony. “Come on, even I know that friends talk about the things in their lives that are troubling them, and we're more than friends, aren't we? Talk to me about it, Spitfire, maybe I can help. I do have a crapton of money, you kn-”

“Yes,” interrupted Martin. “I do know. You make sure to point it out as often as possible, but I told you: I'm not interested in charity. I'm _fine_. Things are tight, but they're not impossible. I can handle it.”

He started to gather up the rubbish, determined to get out of this conversation while he could.

Tony sat up and grabbed his wrist, keeping him in place. “I'm not saying you can't, I'm just saying that if you ever need help, or just to talk about it-”

“If I wanted to talk about it, don't you think I'd have mentioned it before you decided to invade my life?” snapped Martin. He shook Tony off and stood up, striding over to the bin to get away from him.

When he came back, Tony was talking to Luke and another man. “Hey, Martin,” he said, grinning as if nothing had happened. “This is the Events Manager, Adam Clark, he's going to take us up to the Control Tower for the display.”

“Oh,” said Martin, all his righteous anger evaporating. “Right. Good. Uh, hello.”

Adam spared him a brief nod and then turned back to Tony. “As I was saying, we've got a reporter from The Cambridge News here, if you wouldn't mind-”

“Oh, no,” said Tony immediately. “I'm kinda incognito today. Stopped off on my way home from a superhero thing, it's a bit hush-hush. Didn't exactly get my passport stamped as I came into the country, so I'm technically here illegally. It would put a bit of a dampener on things if I was arrested and deported, you know?”

“Ah, right,” said Adam, deflating. “Of course.” Martin could actually see his dreams of Tony Stark-generated publicity dying in his eyes.

“Sorry,” said Tony, patting Adam's shoulder commiseratingly. “Tell you what, if anyone ever asks me what my favourite air show is, I'll definitely say you guys.”

Adam perked up slightly. “That would be good of you,” he said, and then cleared his throat. “At any rate, if you'd like to come this way-” He gestured towards the control tower, and Tony beamed.

“Excellent,” he said, and put his hand on Martin's back to usher him along as well.

Martin let him, not quite sure how he was meant to be able to cope with this. Luke gave him a grin and a thumbs up as they went, but Martin was barely able to pull himself together enough to smile in return.

“Look, I'm sorry if I was prying,” said Tony quietly in Martin's ear as they walked. “I just want to make it clear that you can talk to me any time, okay?”

Martin could barely remember the argument in the rush of excited anticipation over getting to go inside Duxford's Control Tower. “There's nothing to talk about,” he said.

Tony sighed. “Yeah, that's clearly not true, but okay,” he said. “Whatever. Just that JARVIS said that communication was the key to a good relationship, is all.”

Martin found enough mental capacity to get angry again. “You mean like communicating that you're about to turn up at my house?” he said. “Or that you're also seeing a supermodel?” A moment later, he regretted it. That had nothing to do with this and was hardly something he could reproach Tony for, anyway. “Sorry, I'm sorry,” he said quickly, before Tony could reply. “I know we're just casual and it doesn't mean anything, really, and I am glad you're here, I'm just- I don't like talking about money, okay?”

“Right!” said Adam as they reached the door of the Control Tower. “Here we are! I'll just take you up and introduce you to the commentators, and then I'm afraid I'll have to get on with some other things.”

Martin went inside, hoping the conversation would end there. He just wanted to concentrate on watching planes and not think about how Tony's presence here, finding out Martin's dirty secrets, probably signalled the end of their brief fling.


	2. Part Two

_We're just casual_.

Tony knew casual. Christ, did he ever. Anyone would back him up on that, the tabloids most of all. Well, maybe the people he'd been out with over the years would be first, but the tabloids would be a close second. Either way, he couldn't name anyone who would try and argue against the statement.

This thing with Martin wasn't like any of that had been. In fact, he wasn't sure it was like anything he'd ever experienced. He spent a lot of time trying not to think about it, but certain bits of evidence were irrefutable. The fact that the minute he hung up the phone on Martin he wanted to be talking to him again, the way he found himself tracking MJN's flights, even though he'd programmed JARVIS to do that for him, the way he'd spent the whole evening with Helga Cavellos thinking about how much hotter she'd be if she had freckles, well, it all pointed one way. Whatever he was doing with Martin, whatever name he decided to use for it, he couldn't use 'casual', and that made it unprecedented.

_We're just casual_.

Except, apparently, Martin thought it was. Which meant that he was only casual about Tony, which would explain why he'd been so freaked to find Tony on his doorstep, and why he didn't want to talk about anything more serious than winglets.

Wow, if this is how those women had felt when Tony told them it was just casual, no wonder he got slapped so often.

“Here we are,” said Adam, waving them through a door on the top floor of the Control Tower. “This is the centre of things.”

“Oh, wow,” said Martin, looking around at the air traffic control equipment with wide eyes. “This is just- incredible.”

“And this is Bill,” said Adam. “He's the commentator today.”

A man wearing headphones around his neck shook their hands. “A real pleasure to meet you, Mr. Stark,” he said. “Can I just say, your winglets design is inspired.”

“Thanks,” said Tony. Somehow it didn't have the same impact from this guy as it did from Martin.

“We're going to be out on the balcony today,” said Bill. “The weather's so nice, it seems a shame to stay indoors.”

Tony gave Martin a grin that he didn't really feel. “Maybe you shoulda grabbed the sun tan lotion from your van after all.”

“What?” asked Martin, glancing away from the nearest computer terminal. He was clearly too blown away by where they were to pay any attention to what Tony was saying. It was pretty cute, which Tony recognised as being a problematic thought given that they were apparently _casual_.

“C'mon out,” said Bill, leading them onto the balcony. “Eagle Squadron are going to be taking off soon.”

“Oh, _wow_ ,” breathed Martin. He walked to the railing at the edge of the balcony as if drawn by a rope, and then just stopped and looked out at the runway stretched out in front of them and then around at the crowds milling about to the sides. “This is the best view I have ever had.”

“Which is saying a lot, seeing as how you've seen me naked,” said Tony, going to stand next to him. He couldn't keep himself from standing close enough for their hips to rest against each other. Well, fuck it, even if this was just _casual_ , that didn't mean he shouldn't take advantage when he could.

Martin blinked and glanced at him. “I meant the best view I've had of the air show,” he said. “I mean, the view the first time I flew a plane was probably better. And when you took me up using Iron Man. And- well, and lots of things.”

None of which included Tony's naked body, apparently. Well, he did have a chunk of metal stuck in his chest. That wasn't on anyone's Top Ten Sexiest Looks list.

“Okay,” came Bill's voice over the tannoy behind them. “Welcome to the Duxford Air Show! And do we have some sights for you today?! First up, and just taxiing down the runway to take off, are the four planes that make up Eagle Squadron. That's the Supermarine Spitfire I AR213, Hawker Hurricane AE997, P-51C Mustang ' _Princess Elizabeth_ ' and Republic P-47G Thunderbolt ' _SNAFU'_.”

He started to talk about each plane's history and specifications in more detail and Tony stopped listening. He was too busy watching the sheer joy and wonder on Martin's face as the planes rolled down the runway below them, taking off one by one and then soaring back overhead.

“Look at the Spitfire,” breathed Martin, and Tony spared a glance upwards.

“It's pretty cool,” he said, looking back at Martin.

“It's _incredible_ ,” said Martin. A moment later, his hand crept into Tony's and clung on, as if he needed something to keep him grounded against how happy he was.

Well, Tony might not be able to make Martin happy by being more than _casual_ , but at least he could give him this. He held on to Martin's hand and settled in for a few hours of watching Martin's face look like that, while planes flew overheard and Bill droned on in the background.

“And this here is Mark Linney in a North American F-86A Sabre,” said Bill, several hours later, as yet another plane flew overhead. “This is the first public Sabre display in over a year, people, we're very lucky to have this.”

That had been the one Martin mentioned in the van that morning as being a particular highlight.

“This your favourite, then?” asked Tony.

“Oh yeah,” said Martin. “Well, after the Spitfires. And only so far – the Red Arrows are still to come, they're always incredible. And the Flying Fortress is always a favourite, she's great.”

Tony laughed. “Okay, be honest, is there any bit that doesn't count as your favourite?”

Martin thought for a moment. “The wingwalkers,” he said after a moment. “Pointless messing about, if you ask me.”

“Fair enough,” said Tony. The Sabre finished its display and there was a brief pause, during which Martin apparently realised that he had been holding his head in pretty much the same position for three hours and stopped to stretch his neck a bit, making a face at the way it clicked.

“Jesus,” said Tony. “Your face is bright red. We really shoulda found you some sunblock earlier.”

Martin made a face. “Oh god, is it? I'll be all gross and peeling in a couple of days. Douglas will spend the whole time making leprosy jokes.”

Tony patted the small of his back and then left his hand there. “Never mind, I bet you're still devastatingly handsome, even with leprosy.”

Martin let out a snort. “Oh yes, I'm definitely up there with your supermodels.”

Back to Helga. Maybe Martin wasn't as fine with the idea of Tony going out with other people as he had claimed earlier. Maybe he could be persuaded to go for something more than _casual_ , if Tony followed JARVIS's advice and communicated with him, like maybe point out just how little interest he had in Helga and how not-casual this thing was to him.

Christ, that seemed like rather a lot of being sincere and heartfelt, which was definitely not Tony's strong point. And what if he was reading too much into a throwaway comment about supermodels?

He moved around behind Martin so that he could put both his arms around Martin's waist, resting his hands on his belt buckle. Martin was a tiny bit taller than him, but that didn't mean Tony couldn't rest his chin on Martin's shoulder.

“You're better than a supermodel,” he said. Martin made a disbelieving noise, but didn't pull away. That had to be a good sign, right? “I was only at that party with Helga as friends, you know,” he said. “I hate going to those things alone.”

“Right, okay,” said Martin. “You don't need to explain to me, it's fine.”

Before Tony could respond to that, there was a thrumming roar of engines, and the Eagle squadron flew overhead, surrounded by nine red Hawk T1s in perfect formation. Oh, those must be the Red Arrows that Martin kept mentioning.

“Oh _wow_ ,” breathed Martin, his whole body tensing as he tipped his head back to watch. “Oh, that's just- just-” He ran out of words without finishing the sentence.

The four historic planes landed and the Red Arrows launched into their proper display, which even Tony had to admit was impressive. In his arms, Martin was quivering with excitement, and Tony couldn't keep from gripping tighter at him, pulling him back against his body. Christ, this moment was worth all the awkwardness of the day, all the tension surrounding whatever Martin wanted to hide from him, even being told they were only casual. Getting to be this close to Martin when he was this happy was worth a lot.

The display finished and the commentator wrapped things up, but Martin didn't move away from Tony's arms, and Tony couldn't bring himself to risk breaking the moment by speaking.

“Tony Stark?”

Of course, that didn't mean that some other bastard wasn't going to break the moment for him. Tony turned around, letting Martin slip from his arms with reluctance, and plastered on a smile.

“Hi,” he said.

“Oh, this is a great honour,” said the man, shaking Tony's hand with a bit more strength than it really needed. “I'm Red 10, I was just doing the commentary for the Arrows.”

Tony hadn't bothered listening to the commentary in favour of focusing on Martin's breathing and occasional tiny impressed noises.

“Oh right, of course,” said Tony. “Red 10, that's an interesting name.”

Red 10 laughed. “Oh, well, that's my call sign, you know. My real name's Victor Wellesley.”

Tony frowned. “Call sign? You weren't flying, though? There were only nine planes.”

“I am one of the Red Arrows,” said Red 10 with a great deal of earnestness. “I fly with them sometimes, it's just today I was doing the commentary. I'm really part of them, honestly. That's why I have a call sign.”

Trying too hard. Right, well, okay. At least he hadn't mentioned winglets yet.

“I just wanted to say that your winglet innovations are incredible,” said Red 10.

Tony let out a laugh. “Ha, okay, thanks,” he said. He reached around and grabbed Martin’s elbow, pulling him into the conversation. “Hey, Martin, this is one of the Red Arrows guys. This Martin Crieff. He's a pilot too.”

“RAF?” asked Red 10, shaking Martin's hand.

“Ah, no,” said Martin. “Civilian. I'm the captain at a charter company. It's- do you really fly with the Arrows?”

“Oh yes,” said Red 10, puffing up with pride.

“That must be incredible,” said Martin with awe, and Tony turned away to leave them to it.

Below them, the crowds of people were beginning to move towards the exit. Christ, Martin hadn't been wrong about getting out earlier. Even getting back to the van was going to involve getting way closer to the general herd than Tony really liked. Maybe they could stay up on this balcony until the press had gone down a bit. Or Adam might know a secret back exit, he guessed, but they'd still have to deal with the parking lot. God, Tony would kill for Happy to turn up in a limo right now. Or a helicopter, damn it, he should have got Pepper to arrange a helicopter.

“Hello,” said a voice. Tony turned to see that it belonged to a man with a press pass and a camera, and felt his eyes narrow.

“Sorry, I'm not talking to muckrakers today,” he said and started to move away.

“No, wait,” said the photographer, grabbing Tony's arm. “I'm not- Adam said you weren't here officially, that's not why I wanted to talk to you.”

Tony glared at him. “Sure, cos you guys can be relied upon to draw the line between official and unofficial.”

The photographer made a face. “Look, I understand you're used to dealing with tabloid reporters, but I'm from the Cambridge News. I cover planning permission for bike routes and the occasional traffic accident – I'm really not the same as those guys.”

“Right,” drawled Tony disbelievingly. “So what do you want?”

“I just thought you might like copies of some of the photos I took,” said the photographer. He held up the view screen of his camera and flicked through to show Tony several shots of him with Martin in his arms, both of them looking up at the planes overhead.

Tony sighed. “Oh great, so it's blackmail,” he said. “Don't bother, you would not believe how great my lawyers are at crushing people like you. Besides, it's not like publishing those would do my reputation any harm – whole world and his mother knows I swing both ways.”

The photographer let his camera drop. “You're very defensive,” he noted. “It's not blackmail, either. I don't happen to think that the private lives of celebrities count as actual news – even planning permission for cycle lanes is worth more newsprint than what you get up to in private. I literally just wanted to offer you the photos. If you give me an email address, I'll send them to you. Or, if you want to remain paranoid, I'll delete them here and now in front of you, but that seems a shame.”

That did seem a shame. Tony didn't really have any photos of him and Martin, particularly not ones where they looked so happy and- well. And not _casual_. Could he trust this man? He seemed sincere enough, but he was a member of the press, after all.

“Jarvis at stark dot com,” he said. “Not kidding, though, if you try and play me-”

“Jarvis,” repeated the photographer. “Got it. Also, has anyone told you that you're a bit paranoid?”

“It's not paranoia if they really are trying to take photos of you through hotel windows,” said Tony. He glanced over at Martin, who was now deeply involved in conversation with Red 10. “If you do screw me over, don't even think about putting his name in it,” he added. “I'm not kidding about my lawyers – they make being smacked by Thor's hammer seem like a kiddie fight.”

The photographer held up both hands. “Seriously, I just want to pass on some photos to the people in them. Same as when I offered Adam a couple I took of him with the planes earlier. I'm really not the kind of guy who screws people over.”

Tony made a disbelieving noise. As far as he was concerned, nobody seemed like the kind of guy who fucked you over until you were being fucked, and then it was too late.

He headed back over to Martin just in time to catch him saying, “I know! It's as if there's a proper way for a pilot to look, and if you don't match up to it, no one will believe you can fly a plane.”

“Red 1 teases me about it endlessly,” said Red 10. “Just because he looks like the ultimate RAF stereotype -”

“Oh, I know a pilot like that,” said Martin. “Always so smug about it, and yet who's the one with the captain's stripes?”

Tony slid his arm around Martin's waist. “You'll always be my captain,” he said cheerfully. “Although not in a Captain, My Captain kinda way, that seems a bit full-on. Plus, you know, you're not dead.”

Martin gave him a really confused look, and Tony took a moment to consider that a poem about a dead US president might not be too well known in Britain. Eh, he was willing to bet that wasn't the first incomprehensible thing he'd said to Martin. He had it on pretty good authority that half what he said made no sense.

“Anyway,” said Red 10, “I should be going. Need to get back to the Arrows, you know, and debrief on how the display went. It was good talking to you, Martin.”

“You too,” said Martin, shaking his hand.

Red 10 disappeared off, leaving Martin to give Tony a happy smile. “This has been an excellent day,” he said. “I can't believe I got to speak to a Red Arrow! And did you see those Spitfires? They were just- just beautiful!”

Tony thought about making a comment about his Spitfire being the most beautiful but vetoed it as being far too cheesy. No need to embarrass himself.

“So,what's the plan for the rest of the day?” he asked instead.

Martin shrugged. “Well, we could probably make it round the Battle of Britain hangar before we got thrown out,” he said. “Um. You know, if you haven't seen too many planes already today.”

“Can't imagine such a thing,” said Tony. “Come on then, sounds a much better plan than trying to fight our way back to the van just yet.”

It was a much better plan. Martin got excited about the planes and Tony got to watch it and think about just how much he wanted to get Martin into a bed where he could taste some of that excitement himself. He started to plan the rest of the evening and try to work out the best way to get Martin to let him pay for dinner. Finding a restaurant owner who was willing to trust Tony Stark to wire him the payment the day after eating was probably going to be much easier than getting Martin to accept more from Tony after his hissy fit over lunch.

That thought led to others, about how if this wasn't a _casual_ relationship he might be able to get Martin to open up about what was going on with his financials, and maybe accept a bit more from Tony so that he didn't need to panic about spending a few pounds on lunch.

“Sorry, Martin, you're going to have to leave now,” said one of the Duxford staff. “We're closing now.”

“Okay, thanks, Paul,” said Martin, and Tony wondered if he knew everyone who worked there.

“How often do you come here?” he asked as they headed back to the van.

Martin gave a little shrug. “Whenever I have a free day and I'm bored,” he said. “Not very often, really. Probably not even once a month.”

Jesus, no wonder everyone knew him. And yet he'd never been here with someone else before. Tony tried to imagine why anyone wouldn't want to come along and watch Martin's face light up with excitement, and drew a blank. He couldn't imagine anything better than the way Martin's tongue tripped over his words as he tried to explain just why he was so excited about whatever bit of aviation history he was looking at. Tony kinda wanted to come and see it again, when it was a bit quieter, and they could just wander about the displays together, holding hands and-

Tony cut the thought off. _Casual_ , right. That meant he probably wasn't going to be welcome to come back over again.

Martin didn't seem like he was unhappy about Tony being there, though. Nothing about the way he'd relaxed back against Tony earlier had felt _casual_.What if this was just a communication thing, and Martin didn't realise Tony wanted more? It would be unbelievably stupid to stay casual, and be all angsty emo boy about it, without making sure that Martin didn't want the same as Tony.

Time to man up and stop being a pussy about this. He was an Avenger, god damn it, he could manage to ask a guy if he wanted to go steady. 

Okay, well, what did you say? Tony searched his mind for any hint or clue and came up with nothing. Shit, maybe he should wait until he could get JARVIS to research this kind of thing for him and give him a script. He worked better with a script.

No, he didn't, who was he kidding? He worked better with a script only if he threw away the script at the start and just dove in.

“So, you know this 'being casual' thing,” he said. “How's that working for you?”

“Uh,” said Martin, clearly blind-sided by the question. “Um. Okay, I supp-”

“Cos it's not working real great for me,” interrupted Tony. “Here's the thing, and stop me if it's not- not what you want or whatever, but I kinda want us to be more than that. I want to be part of whatever you've got going on that's more than just the occasional day out of our real lives, and I want to be able to go to boring charity galas alone and tell the reporters that it's cos my other half is busy flying around the world – unless you wanted to come with me to them, but given your reaction to Nero's, I'm guessing that's not really your thing, I mean, God knows I hate them, why should you be subjected to them as well?” Shit, he'd got a bit off-topic. What had he been saying?

“Wait, Tony,” said Martin, coming to a halt and turning to look at Tony. “Are you- do you mean you want to be-” He stopped, clearly stuck searching for the word.

Tony could empathise. “Yeah,” he said. “I do. Whatever word you end up coming up with, cos I got to be honest, boyfriends sounds ridiculous, but partners is way too boring and don't get me started on lovers, that's just, ugh, no.”

“Oh,” said Martin. He stared at Tony blankly for an achingly long moment.

“I mean, we don't have to, just putting it out there, whatever you want, really,” Tony started again, and he wondered where his off switch was. Seriously, he needed to just stop talking. “We can stay as we are, of course, that's great, just, I want to be more than casual, you know?” Just seriously, shut the fuck up, Stark.

“But...but why?” asked Martin, and then blushed. Not that it was really visible beneath his sunburn, but Tony knew him well enough to spot the signs now. “I mean, why me? You're Tony Stark, you know people like Helga Cavellos! I'm just a nothing sort of person next to her.”

Tony took Martin's hands. “No, you're not,” he said. “You're really not. Christ, Helga's one of the most shallow people you'll meet. If it's not fashion or PR about fashion, she's not interested. You're so much more than that, Martin. You- you're-”

Tony was interrupted from trying to phrase exactly what it was about Martin that had him so fascinated by the last thing he wanted to hear right now; the Avengers alert going off on his phone.

“God fucking damn it,” he swore, pulling it out. “Can't the world just stay saved for twenty-four fucking hours?!”

He flipped it open and growled down the phone. “This better be really fucking serious.”

“Doctor Doom kidnapping Sue was a distraction. The rest of The Cabal used the time we were out of the country to set up for an attack on the President, which they launched about an hour ago. You need to get back here, Tony, they've just taken the White House.”

Fan-fucking-tastic. “I'll be there,” he said and hung up on Steve.

“I need my suit,” he said to Martin. “Really quickly – big things afoot.”

“Right,” said Martin. “Right, uh, okay. Come on, then.”

They ran out of the Duxford exit and over to the van, where Martin pulled open the back doors to reveal the Iron Man suit.

Tony tapped it on the chest. “C'mon, wake up, JARVIS. I need inside.”

There were only a handful of people left in the parking lot, but by the time Tony was dressed up in a robotic suit of awesome, they were all staring. Tony ignored them in favour of looking at Martin, who was staring at him with wide, helpless eyes.

“I'm so sorry about this,” he said. “Fucking awful timing, I know, trust me, I know.”

Martin shook his head. “It's not your fault,” he said. “Saving the world is- well. It's more important than me, anyway.”

Tony bent forward to kiss him rather than come up with a reply to that. “Look, just- think about what I was saying, okay? If you want more than casual, I am more than up for it.”

Martin nodded. “Right, okay. Um, stay safe.”

Tony nodded and put down his facemask, taking a step back before he blasted off. God damn Doctor Doom and his fucking ridiculous Cabal friends.

****

He arrived in Washington DC in time to join in the Avengers and Fantastic Four's joint assault to retake the White House. He'd spent the whole flight over running through exactly what he'd said to Martin, and kicking himself for being such a babbling idiot. Seriously, how hard was it to just come out with a coherent statement about his feelings?

Well, okay, so, apparently it was pretty fucking tricky, but that didn't mean he shouldn't have been able to manage it. He was a genius, after all.

“Iron Man, Torch, go in through the front windows,” shouted Captain America.

Tony managed a salute and then flew up to smash through the windows, followed a moment later by Johnny, who presumably wanted to avoid broken glass. Wuss.

Loki and Norman Osborn were waiting for them inside the room and Tony aimed a blast of repulsor energy at them both.

Osborn got blown backwards, but Loki did his annoying disappearing act and avoided the blast.

Tony had a split-second to wonder where Loki was now before a voice hissed next to where Tony's ear would be if he wasn't wearing a massive helmet.

“Time to lay down and sleep like the lamb you are, Stark.”

The next moment, everything went black.

****

****

All the students were in the sitting room when Martin made it home from Duxford and they all turned around to stare at him. Or, rather, behind him, to where they were clearly hoping to see Tony.

“Um, hello,” Martin said.

“Tony motherfucking Stark?!” asked Tariq.

“Uh, I think his middle name is Edward, actually,” said Martin.

“Not the point!” exclaimed Tariq, going a bit red.

“Is he going to come by again?” asked Sonya. “My friend Lizzie would love to-”

“No,” said Martin. “No, he's not a sideshow. He's just my- uh, friend, okay? No big deal.” Friend? Was that the right word? Given what Tony had been saying just before he'd been called away, perhaps something else would be appropriate.

“Not a big deal?” repeated Rupes in an incredulous voice. “Not a _big_ deal? You're fucking the thirty-sixth richest man in the world, and it's not a big deal?!”

Martin gave a little shrug.

Rupes threw his arms in the air and collapsed back against the sofa. “Just let me know if Donald Trump is likely to walk out of our shower, yeah? I do not want to see that in a towel.”

Sonya made a face. “I'd rather he went with the superhero theme than the rich guys one. Captain America in a towel would be brilliant.”

Martin remembered just how Cap had looked in a tight t-shirt, and silently agreed. “Um,” he said. “Do you mind putting on BBC News for a bit? Tony got called away for an Avengers thing, and I just wanted to check up on him.”

“Oh, is there an epic battle going on?” said Tariq with excitement, flicking the channel.

_“Breaking News! The attack on Washington DC by various super-villains working in concert is now moving into its fourth hour. From the press's position, we can see now that the Avengers and the Fantastic Four are all gathered outside the White House, presumably trying to come up with a plan to rescue the President and the other people trapped inside the White House from the group calling itself The Cabal.”_

_“Actually, Julie, that's not quite true. There's yet to be any sign of Iron Man at the scene. We're not sure if that means he's doing something out of sight, or if he- Oh, hang on, what's this?”_

The shot changed to a wobbly, long-distance view of Iron Man zipping across the sky and then landing next to the other huddled superheroes.

“Dude,” said Tariq. “You fucked that last night.”

“Jesus, Tariq, do you have to be so crude?” complained Trish.

_“Yes, Julie, we can now report that Iron Man has joined the other superheroes and is conferring with them.”_

The cameraman was desperately trying to focus in on the group of superheroes, but the distance was so far that all he was really getting was grainy, jerky shots of the backs of people's heads. Martin recognised Clint talking to the Human Torch, making some kind of gesture that looked a bit obscene but might easily have been innocent.

There were a few more minutes of nothing, while the reporters desperately tried to come up with something to say other than 'we have no idea what's going on', and then the superheroes all split up, heading in different directions. The cameraman tried to focus on them all for a moment, then pulled back to show a wide view of the White House, just as Iron Man and the Human Torch took to flight, crashing in through the front windows and disappearing from sight.

Martin's heart clenched.

_“The precise number of supervillains inside the White House has yet to be confirmed, but we have had reports of Loki and Doctor Doom, as well as rumours of Norman Osborn's involvement. As we speak, the Avengers and the Fantastic Four have moved into the building, and are battling with The Cabal for the White House.”_

“You've gone a bit white, Martin,” said Trish. “Come and sit down.”

“I- Yes,” said Martin. He stumbled forward to collapse onto a sofa, trying to tell himself that Tony did this all the time, and that he'd be fine. Of course he'd be fine – he was wearing the most expensive armour ever created and he was surrounded by super-powered friends.

Despite the fact that he was breaking the house rules – Martin didn't pay any of the cable bill, and so had agreed never to watch any of those channels – no one complained as they all sat in silence, waiting for news on how the fight inside the White House was going. Martin clenched his hands together and wondered how he was meant to be able to cope with this. Most of the time he didn't hear about Tony's adventures as Iron Man until after they were all over and he knew Tony was fine. This watching and waiting was awful. How did the partners of other superheroes manage it?

_This is what becoming serious with Tony would be like,_ he thought.

There was movement on the balcony of the White House and then the President emerged, flanked by Captain America and Mister Fantastic. He gave the gathered media a wave and then disappeared back inside.

_“We're getting news that the siege has been broken, and that all the supervillains have been captured.”_

A team of SHIELD agents went into the building and Martin let himself relax. They’d won. Of course they'd won, they were the Avengers.

There was a flurry of activity at one of the doors and then the Hulk emerged, carrying a limp red-and-gold figure. Martin heard himself make a tiny, moaning noise as he realised it was Tony. Oh god, what had happened?

_“Reports are coming in that Iron Man has been injured. He's just been carried out of the building by his team-mate the Hulk, and it looks like – yes, he's being taken to a SHIELD helicopter, presumably to be taken to a medical facility. I'm afraid we've got no news yet on how bad his injuries might be, or even if he's still alive.”_

Martin couldn't breath.

“You okay?” asked Trish, touching his shoulder.

Martin sprang up. “Fine,” he said. “Fine, just fine. I should leave you to it, sorry, not meant to be watching this, I know, I'll just-” He ran upstairs, desperate to get away from the image of Tony lying so limp in the Hulk's arms, like a broken doll.

Upstairs, he slumped onto his bed and clutched his phone in his hands. Who could he call, though? Tony wouldn't- couldn't answer, and the only other number he had was for Pepper. She'd either know just as little as the news did, or would be far too busy looking after Tony to waste time on talking to Martin.

About half an hour later, there were quiet footsteps up to his attic door and a gentle tap on the door.

“Yes?” asked Martin, and then had to clear his throat to wipe out the rough sound of his voice.

The door opened to reveal Trish. “I thought you'd want to know that they've just announced that Iron Man is fine. Just some kind of magical attack that left him unconscious, but they said he's awake and recovering well now.”

Relief washed through Martin. He gave Trish a grateful nod. “Thank you.”

She smiled at him in return and then left him alone to keep staring at his phone, wondering if he should call.

****

He didn't. In the end, he tucked the phone away, got changed and went to bed, where he lay awake for an hour or two, thinking.

The problem was that if he spoke to Tony, he would have to give some kind of response to what Tony was saying just before he got called away, and Martin had no idea what he should say.

_“We can stay as we are, of course, that's great, just, I want to be more than casual, you know?”_

Martin did know. God, did he know. He wanted to have that with Tony, he really did, especially if it meant no more photos of Tony with annoyingly attractive supermodels.

The problem was that he wouldn't just be having that with Tony. He'd be having that with Tony Stark, billionaire, and Tony Stark, Iron Man, as well. He thought he might be able to learn to cope with the level of press attention that was turned on Tony every time he turned around, and that would presumably include some interest in his new British boyfriend. What he really wasn't sure about was how he could cope with nights like this one, when he was trapped at home watching Iron Man on telly and hoping that this wasn't the time when Tony ended up seriously injured. Or worse.

He eventually fell asleep only to be woken up a few hours later by his alarm. MJN had an early flight to Amsterdam that morning, one that Martin probably hadn't had enough sleep to be operating on.

The client was late, which made Carolyn happy as she gleefully added 'time spent on stand-by' to the invoice. Martin escaped the office to sit in GERTI's cockpit and stare at his phone for a bit. He couldn't phone now, of course, it was the middle of the night in America. Even if Tony didn't generally keep normal hours, he must be sleeping in the wake of an injury like that, surely? If Martin was with him, he'd be making sure of it.

That kind of influence over Tony would only come with agreeing to be serious, of course. Martin let himself imagine it, drifting off in a daydream of keeping Tony in bed the day after an injury using the simple persuasion of taking all his clothes off and kissing him every time he talked about going elsewhere.

The door of the cockpit opened and Douglas came in just as Martin reached the bit where Tony was getting JARVIS to order them takeaway. Martin cleared his throat and realised that he was gripping his phone so tightly that the edges were scoring a line in the palm of his hand. He forced himself to put it in a pocket.

“Please tell me you're not _sexting_ Tony in here,” said Douglas, with more disgust than Martin thought was warranted, given the story Douglas had once told him about what he'd got up to with an air hostess in the cockpit of an Air England plane.

“Not at all,” said Martin. “He's probably asleep.”

“Ah, yes,” said Douglas, sitting down in his own chair. “I saw the news about last night's excitement. I take it he's okay?”

Martin gave a shrug. “I think so.”

There was a moment of silence, and then Douglas gave a long, disappointed sigh. “Oh, Martin, please tell me you've phoned him to make sure.”

“I didn't want to interrupt him when he'd be getting medical treatment, and then it was too late and he'd have been sleeping,” said Martin defensively. “I'll phone him later.”

“He's going to think you don't care,” said Douglas. “I suggest calling the minute it's an acceptable time there – when we set down in Amsterdam.”

Martin felt himself bristle. “Don't give me orders on how to run my relationships,” he snapped.

“Someone has to,” said Douglas, “or you'd make a horrible mess of it on your own. When was the last time you spoke to him?”

“Yesterday, actually,” said Martin. “We went to the Duxford Air Show together.”

And he'd had the best time he could ever remember having at an air show, which was saying a lot. Watching the Red Arrows from the comforting circle of Tony's arms was something he could never have believed he'd ever get to enjoy, and had immediately made the top ten best moments of his life.

Douglas gave him an amused look. “Ah, Duxford. The most romantic place a Crieff can imagine. How delightful for him.”

“It was,” said Martin, feeling defensive. Tony must have had a good time, right? He wasn't the type of man to keep quiet when he was bored and besides, he wouldn't have said all that about wanting to be serious if he hadn't had a good time. Surely?

“Of course,” said Douglas. “I would never doubt it.”

It occurred to Martin that if he was going to be able to discuss his current dilemma with anyone, it would have to be either Douglas, Arthur or Carolyn, because they were currently the only people who knew he was dating Tony Stark. Well, apart from the Avengers and Pepper, but he couldn't really imagine phoning Captain America up for dating advice. If he asked Arthur, he already knew he'd get an bout of enthusiasm about how brilliant it would be for Martin and Tony to get serious, and if he asked Carolyn- Well. She'd probably demand to know just why Martin thought she'd care about his lovelife.

“Douglas, can I ask some advice?” he said, hesitantly.

“Of course,” said Douglas. “You know I'm always eager to share my vast knowledge of many things with those less wise than myself. However, I should warn you that if this conversation is going to delve into the realms of gay sex-”

“No, God no,” interrupted Martin, but Douglas kept talking.

“-I have very little practical experience to draw on, although I should imagine that my heterosexual expertise might be a help.”

“God, no, nothing like that,” said Martin. “I don't- The sex is fine. Excellent, really. No help needed at all, ever.”

“How disappointing,” said Douglas.

Martin almost changed his mind about asking, but the truth was, he had no one else, and no idea what to do. “Okay, well, it's just- yesterday, before he got called away to deal with the White House thing, Tony said he wanted to make our relationship more than just casual. Um, you know, give it a name and, and, make it exclusive and all that. What do you think I should do?”

Douglas gave him an incredulous look. “I can't decide what's more appalling,” he said. “The fact that neither of you have apparently already realised that what you have is not casual in the slightest, or the fact that you think there is something to debate about on this. Of course you should say yes, Martin.”

“Of course it's casual,” said Martin. “We don't see each other more than every couple of weeks and he spends time with, you know, supermodels and things in his spare time.”

Douglas let out a very long sigh. “You talk on the phone almost constantly. Not seeing each other is a product of distance, not a statement on the nature of your relationship. If he lived in Fitton, can you honestly tell me you wouldn't be spending almost every night with him at this point? As for the supermodels, you must be blind if you can't see that that is purely for publicity reasons. Even I can tell the difference between his smile when he's faking it for the press, and when he's with you and genuinely happy.”

Martin frowned. Those were good points, but he couldn't quite believe it was that easy.

“Okay, fine,” said Douglas, catching the look on Martin's face. “Let's do this a different way. What on earth makes you think you shouldn't say yes immediately?”

“Last night, I watched him go into a fight with, with super-powered villains, and come out injured and unconscious,” said Martin. “On TV – I had to watch it on TV. I don't- How can I be in a serious relationship with someone who could be killed every other week?”

“That would be a good point,” said Douglas, “but you're missing something very obvious. The difference between a casual relationship and a serious one is not the actions within it, it's the feelings. Would you honestly say your feelings for Tony were only casual? Or that, if you remain in this pattern of pretending they are and he gets seriously injured or killed, it will make any difference to how you feel about it? I should imagine the main difference would be regret that you hadn't taken the chance to have everything you could while you had the chance.”

That was a frighteningly good point, actually. Martin subsided into silence, frowning to himself. If he was in a serious relationship with Tony, then he would have phoned Pepper or someone to find out his condition last night without a second thought. He might have been able to talk to Tony before he went to bed, heard his voice and been able to completely reassure himself that Tony was fine, and not still that limp shape in the Hulk's arms that kept reappearing in his mind.

The cabin door banged open. “Good news, drivers!” said Carolyn. “Our client has finally deigned to show up, and wants to leave immediately. Get to it!”

****

They touched down in Amsterdam just over an hour later, by which time Martin knew exactly what he was going to do. He ducked away as soon as the post-landing checks were over, leaving Douglas to deal with the client while he found a quiet place to make a phone call.

It was still very early in New York, but Tony had told him once that it didn't matter what time he called because it wasn't as if he kept normal sleep patterns.

_“Besides, sleep is boring, I'd much rather talk to you any day.”_

The phone rang an abnormally long time and the voice that finally answered wasn't the one Martin had been expecting.

“Hello, this is Pepper Potts.”

“Oh,” said Martin. “I'm sorry, I thought I was calling Tony. Sorry, I don't-”

“No, that's fine,” said Pepper. She'd sounded sleepy when she'd first responded, but she was clearly waking up fast. Martin felt horrible. “I told JARVIS not to let any calls through to Tony's phone until he'd had at least ten hours sleep, but that if you called to transfer it to me.”

“Oh,” said Martin. “Um. Hello. How is Tony? The news was a bit vague.”

“He's fine,” she said. “He got a jolt of what I'm told is some kind of magical electrical shock, and it put him out for a bit, but nothing lasting. He just needs rest.”

“Oh,” said Martin. A 'magical electric shock' didn't sound good at all, but Pepper seemed calm enough about it. “Right, well, thank you. Could you ask JARVIS to get Tony to call me when he wakes up? Um, if he's not busy.”

“Oh no,” she said. “You don't escape that easily. I need to talk to you.”

Oh god. Martin was suddenly terrified. “What about?” he asked, in a voice that went high-pitched with nerves.

“What are you doing with Tony? Because if you're just messing him about to take advantage of him, let me tell you-”

“Oh, no, I'm not,” said Martin. “Not at all. I don't- I'm not.”

“Then why didn't you call last night, instead of leaving it until nearly ten hours after he was injured?”

Martin felt sweat break out on his forehead. He'd been prepared to talk to Tony about this, not to his over-protective best friend/CEO. “I just- I thought it wouldn't be a good time. I thought he'd be busy being, you know, treated, and wouldn't have time to talk to me.”

There was a pause and then a long sigh. “Oh god, you two are just- How the hell are you managing an actual relationship? How do you not get that Tony always makes time to talk to you, even when he has to cancel something to do so?”

“He cancels things for me?” asked Martin, feeling both touched and faintly annoyed. It wasn't as if he wouldn't phone back at another time if he was inconvenient – he'd told Tony that several times.

“Don't let it go to your head. Half the time he cancels things just so he can go and get a burger, or because he's nine hours into a project and has forgotten anything exists outside of his workshop.”

Martin tried to remember Tony ever cancelling on him, or even telling him it wasn't a good time and he should call back later. He drew a blank.

“That's not my point, though,” continued Pepper. “The point is that you are clearly important to Tony, but he's not very good at things like that, so you're going to need to step up and be the bigger man, okay? You definitely need to make sure you don't hurt him, because the other Avengers aren't even going to be the worst of your problems if you do that, okay? I would personally make sure you regretted it for the rest of your life.”

“Oh,” said Martin in a panicked squeak. “Um, no, I don't- I don't want to hurt him, I promise. I was actually calling to tell him I want to be more serious, I don't want to hurt him at all, seriously, please don't do anything nasty to me.”

“You were?” she said, and suddenly all trace of threat was out of her voice. Martin collapsed against the wall behind him, trying to calm his pounding heart. “That's good. That's very good. Tell you what, why don't you come here and tell him in person?”

Martin blinked. “I can't, I'm in Amsterdam. We're flying back to Fitton in an hour or two.”

“No, you're not,” said Pepper. “I'll call your CEO. Carolyn Knapp-Shappey, right? I'm sure she'd be grateful to get a commission from Stark Industries to fly to New York.”

“No,” said Martin, trying to be firm. “No, that would be terrible waste of money, I can't let you-”

She laughed. “Money?” she repeated. “Oh, Martin, you really don't get it, do you? Money isn't ever an issue when it comes to Tony. He's the kind of wealthy that means he'd have to put serious thought and time into spending enough to make even a small dent in his accounts. Getting you to fly over from Amsterdam when he's been hurt is like someone else picking up some flowers at a gas station on their way to the hospital. In fact, you're in Amsterdam, you said? You can bring him some tulips.”

“That's not-” started Martin, but even he could hear how weak his voice was. The problem was that he really wanted to actually see Tony and not just speak to him, and Pepper had a point. Tony wouldn't even notice the cost of MJN flying to New York, whereas it would make Carolyn crow with delight at the sudden windfall. He sighed. _This is the start of slippery slope_ , he thought, but couldn't bring himself to care right now. His personal standpoint against accepting charity suddenly seemed less important when it meant he got to actually see Tony rather than just listen to his voice down a phone.

****

****

Tony woke up stupidly late, which was totally JARVIS's fault. Or Pepper's. Or both of them, working in concert against him. Honestly, couldn't a guy get some loyalty from his AI and his CEO?

At any rate, the sun was already high when Tony made it out of the bedroom but at least he'd managed to sleep off most of the magical hangover that Loki's blast had left him with. He'd have to work out some way to shield the suit from that kind of thing in future. In fact, he should have been working on that already, figuring out what damage Loki had done and fixing it.

“Coffee,” he told JARVIS. “Then I'm going to my workshop, don't let anyone bother me while I'm down there.”

JARVIS cleared his non-existent throat. “I'm afraid Miss Potts has instructed me not to let you into your workshop until this afternoon.”

Tony groaned. “And you take her instructions over mine? You traitor. Who wrote out your code?”

“You did, sir, but I'm afraid you included rather too much about looking after your health for me to allow you into the workshop just yet. You should be resting.”

Tony sighed and took his coffee back into the lounge, where he collapsed onto a sofa. “That was just meant to make sure you called for assistance if I hurt myself while building something,” he muttered. “Totally over-reacting, there's nothing wrong with me.”

His whole body ached, and he relaxed into the cushions with a little sigh of relief.

“Indeed, sir,” said JARVIS. “Nevertheless, I am afraid that I will have to comply with Miss Potts's instructions.”

“Yeah, yeah,” muttered Tony into his coffee. “Traitor. When does the afternoon start, then? 12.01?”

“Miss Potts said that it was any time after noon, provided that you had already eaten lunch.”

“Oh, come on!” said Tony. “I can eat lunch in my workshop, I do it all the time.”

“Whilst working, there is a sixty-four percent chance that you will forget a meal entirely, a twelve percent chance that you get food but forget to eat any of it, and a fifteen percent chance that you will eat less than three bites. That only leaves a nine percent chance of you actually eating.”

“See? That's excellent odds,” said Tony. “I'd put a hundred on a bet like that.”

“Do you want to hear the statistics related to how often you lose bets, sir?” asked JARVIS.

Tony sighed. “No, no, don't bother. Okay fine, so I'm not allowed into my workshop for-” he glanced at his watch, “-an hour and seventeen minutes. Where's everyone else? There must be someone about to entertain me for an hour.”

“Miss Potts is currently in her office and the other Avengers are at SHIELD headquarters, debriefing after last night's incident. It was agreed that you did not need to be present in light of your injuries.”

“Well, that's something,” said Tony. Anything was better than trying to explain why you'd done a certain thing in the middle of a fight to a bunch of emotionless suits. “Oh, hey, is Martin available? He was flying to Amsterdam this morning, right? But that was his time, he'll be free by now.”

“I'm afraid MJN Air was contracted for a last minute job, and Captain Crieff is currently in flight and unable to answer a phone call,” said JARVIS.

Tony groaned. “Jesus, I really am going to go nuts with boredom in the next hour.”

He didn't, but it was close. He was saved by JARVIS announcing that he'd received an email from _T.Young@Cambnews.co.uk_ which had several photos attached and read:

_See, you can actually trust the press. Occasionally. I've deleted the masters, I promise._

Tony immediately had JARVIS throw the images up on all the walls, and spent some time contemplating the way he and Martin looked together.

He couldn't stop himself from going over and over Martin's response to his attempt to talk to him yesterday, before Cap showed off his usual terrible timing and interrupted. Martin hadn't exactly been encouraging in his response, but then he'd clearly also been blown away with surprise by it all. If nothing else, that was a pretty clear sign that Tony needed to do something about his self-esteem.

_I'm just a nothing sort of person._

Bullshit. Tony had to find some way to get Martin to realise that if that was true, there was no way Tony would still be hanging out with him.

But then, maybe Martin had just been trying to find a way out of the conversation because he was feeling awkward that he did just want to stay casual. Which would be upsetting, frankly, but Tony could learn to live with it. After all, what kind of nutcase would want to get mixed up in all Tony's shit if they didn't have to? Not to mention the distance thing, which was annoying enough when you were a billionaire with your own flying suit. And Martin had made it pretty clear that he didn't want to let Tony into his personal problems.

And what the hell was going on with his money thing, anyway?

“JARVIS, track Martin's financials, will you? Does he have some massive debt he's paying off? Or someone dependent on him? A sick parent or something?”

“Investigating,” said JARVIS. “Are you sure that Captain Crieff would approve of this?”

Tony made a disgusted noise. “Probably not. Actually, he'd hate it.” He hesitated. “Okay, okay, fine, work out why he's so poor, but don't tell me. Unless it's, like, he's being blackmailed by villains, or secretly funding a terrorist group or something.”

“Understood,” said JARVIS.

“Not sure what kind of terrorist group Martin would be into, though. Gingers For A Better Future? People for the Ethical Treatment Of Planes?”

“It is now 11.45,” said JARVIS. “Would you like me to order lunch?”

“Yeah, sure,” said Tony. “Sushi would be good. And then you'll let me go to my workshop, right?”

“If that is still what you desire, sir,” said JARVIS.

“Course it is,” said Tony. “Need to get my suit sorted.”

“Indeed, sir,” said JARVIS.

There was something in the tone of his voice that made Tony suspicious. “Do you know something I don't?”

“Many things, sir,” said JARVIS. “I do have access to the entirety of the world wide web, after all. Incidentally, my analysis of Captain Crieff's financial status is complete, and there is nothing related to crime to report.”

“Right, okay,” said Tony. “Okay, so, what does that mean? I mean, he is actually poor, right? He's not just, like, totally miserly or something? Does he have Scottish ancestry?”

“His financial status does fall into a bracket that would be labelled 'poor', yes, sir,” said JARVIS. “I'm afraid I have not done a full analysis of his ancestry at this time.”

“Right, okay,” said Tony, and then he forcibly made himself not ask any more questions. “I guess I'll just have to keep pestering him until he tells me, then.”

JARVIS didn't reply to that but Tony could feel an air of disapproval. He ignored it. It was clear that Martin wasn't going to share this unless Tony talked him into it and there was no point in him keeping it a secret. The only problem would be trying to find some way to do something about it that Martin would accept without getting funny about 'charity' again.

There was a ping from the lift and Tony glanced over to see if the others were back from debriefing yet, or if that was his sushi arriving.

It was neither.

“Um, hello,” said Martin, holding an enormous bunch of tulips.

“Spitfire!” greeted Tony, springing up off the sofa despite the ache in his muscles. “This is the best surprise since the thing with the pornstars that Rhodey organised for my twenty-first!” 

He crossed to Martin and kissed him while Martin flailed about trying to keep the tulips from being crushed. 

“And you brought me flowers!” he said, taking them from Martin. “Red and gold – Iron Man colours. I approve.”

“Uh, they're actually from Pepper,” said Martin. “She organised MJN flying over here.”

“She deserves a raise,” said Tony, finding a card in the flowers and pulling it out. “JARVIS, remind me to give her a raise.”

“Yes, sir,” said JARVIS.

Inside the card was a note that said:

_How the hell did you manage to find the only person more insecure than yourself to go out with? Don't fuck this up, I don't have time to micromanage your lovelife._

_Pepper._

“On second thoughts, cancel that raise,” said Tony.

“Yes, sir,” said JARVIS.

Martin was staring around at the walls. “Where did you get those photos?” he asked.

Tony glanced around at them. “They're cool, right? Newspaper guy sent them to me – turns out they're not all evil. Well, not all obviously evil maybe, who knows what he does in his free time, maybe he tortures kittens or something.”

Tony tossed the flowers aside so that he could grab Martin again and kiss him to cut off his babbling at being caught with enough photos of Martin around the room to be classified as a creepy stalker-type. 

“I can't believe you're here,” he said.

Martin gave a little shrug. “I wanted to see how you were,” he said. “I watched it on TV last night – they just showed the Hulk carrying you out, and then there was nothing.”

There was a tremor in Martin's voice that Tony didn't like. He took his face in both hands. “Hey, I'm fine,” he said. “Just a little magical thingy, nothing to worry about.”

“I know,” said Martin. “I just- wanted to be sure.”

“Be sure,” said Tony, and kissed him again. This time he took the time to really mean it, putting all his pleasure at seeing Martin into it.

“Ah,” said Martin afterwards, blushing as he grinned at Tony. “Yes, okay. I'm sure.” He paused. “Well, maybe not entirely-”

Tony kissed him again.

Eventually they made it back to the sofa, where they tangled together and kept kissing. Tony kinda thought he should be heading things in a sex direction, but the truth was that he was perfectly content to just sit and make out with Martin for now. He couldn't remember ever feeling that with someone before.

“The sushi is here,” announced JARVIS just as Martin had tucked his fingers up under Tony's shirt to rest over his spine.

Tony sighed and pulled away. “Okay, fine, have it sent up. Oh, hey, did you-”

“I ordered enough for two,” said JARVIS, and Tony beamed.

“My AI is so freaking clever,” he said.

“I know,” said Martin. He cleared his throat and started to try and sit up a bit, but Tony refused to let him move.

“The sushi guy has to make it up sixty-five floors yet,” he said, settling back into kiss Martin again. “No need to get respectable yet.”

They were still kissing when the lift pinged.

The delivery guy gave them a wide-eyed look, Martin went a delicious red colour under his sunburn, and Tony beamed at them both. “Just put it on the table there,” he said. “Thanks.”

“No problem, sir,” said the delivery guy, very quickly, and then ran back into the lift and jabbed at the button until the doors shut again.

Martin sighed. “Do you have to do that?”

“Yes,” said Tony unrepentantly, sitting up. “You want a drink with your sushi? I think I've got sake somewhere?”

“Uh, nothing alcoholic,” said Martin. “It's the middle of the day. And you were injured last night, you shouldn't either.”

“I was injured by _magic_ ,” said Tony, heading over to the bar. “Hardly counts.” He found himself sticking to soda as well though, for reasons he wasn't sure about. It wasn't as if he'd let the time of day dictate what he was drinking since he was seventeen.

Eating sushi with Martin was fun because he clearly hadn't tried most of it but was desperately trying to pretend he had. Tony spent the whole meal lying about what was in each piece, just to see the look on Martin's face.

“How long till you have to go back?” Tony asked as the meal drew to an end.

“Tomorrow morning, I think,” said Martin. “I didn't – I wasn't really paying attention to the booking, once I realised I'd be seeing you.”

“So, we've got all afternoon and all night,” said Tony. “Okay, so, do you want to start in the bedroom or the workshop? I've got some changes to the Quinjet I wanted to talk to you about – it's even less likely to blow up mid-air now.”

What he really wanted to ask was _Have you had time to think about what I said yesterday?_ but he didn't want to push it just yet. What if Martin only wanted to be casual? He'd probably find the whole thing really awkward, and then it'd be weird, and that was the last thing Tony wanted. No, he'd leave that until later tonight. Or tomorrow morning.

“Less likely to blow up?” asked Martin with a raised eyebrow. “JARVIS, is that true?”

“Essentially,” said JARVIS. “However, by 'less likely', Mr. Stark means 0.7% less likely.”

“Hey, that's still less likely!” said Tony. “And it's not a huge risk to start with.”

“Tony, any risk of blowing up midair is too much risk,” said Martin.

Tony made a face. “Spoilsport. Come and look anyway.”

“Of course,” said Martin, standing up. He looked at the remains of their meal, spread out on the table. “Uh, do we need to-”

“Nope,” said Tony. “Come on, there are people to deal with that.”

“Oh,” said Martin glancing around. “Do you have a maid or something?”

Tony snorted. “I meant Steve. Makes him feel useful to clear up after me. Well, no, not quite. I guess it's more that it makes him feel _down-to-earth_ , which he doesn’t get much, being, you know, a ninety-year old super-soldier who regularly saves the world.”

“Right,” said Martin, allowing himself to be towed over to the lift. “Let me guess, if I asked him-”

“Oh, Cap's not nearly self-aware enough to understand that,” said Tony. “Wouldn't have a clue. Might even act annoyed about it, but seriously, deep down, it makes him happy. Honest.”

Martin didn't look convinced, but he did laugh, which was good enough for Tony. 

When they got down to the workshop, Tony headed straight over to get the latest blueprints of the Quinjet up, but Martin stopped him with a hand on his wrist.

“Uh, actually, before we look at the plans, can we talk first? I mean, I really want to see them, but if past experience is anything to go by, we'll be there for hours and I'll forget all about anything else. Except, um, maybe having sex with you.”

“We could start with the sex, if you're worrying about being distracted,” said Tony, gesturing at the coach. “I mean, I'd hate for you to not be able to focus your full attention on my plane design.”

“Um, no,” said Martin, and he was starting to look really nervous, which made Tony nervous as well. Ah, crap, this was Martin about to let him down gently. Why couldn't they have had sex first?

“Okay, then,” he said, and put on his best cheerful mask. Last thing he wanted was for Martin to know just how vulnerable he was to being rejected like this.

Martin stared at him. “Uh, right,” he said, and then was silent for a bit longer. Tony waited it out.

“Right, so, yesterday. You said - that is, I think that's what you were saying, let me know if I've misinterpreted, that would be the sort of thing I'd do - Um, yes. You said that you wanted to be, you wanted us to be more, um. Serious. Yes?”

“Right,” agreed Tony. “And then I proved it by jetting off and leaving you in the middle of a conversation.”

Martin blinked as if he hadn't even realised that might be unacceptable behaviour. “Well, of course. You were needed. Of course you went.”

Okay, well, it figured that of course Martin was the most understanding person about that that Tony had ever seen any Avenger date. Usually there was at least a subtext of annoyance over that kind of thing.

“That's not the point,” said Martin, frowning. “I'm sorry, I'm not saying this very well.”

“That's okay,” said Tony. “Take your time. I don't think we can say I was exactly eloquent yesterday.”

Martin blinked and then managed a smile. “There were some impressively long sentences,” he said. “Okay, well, I'll try to keep things briefer. Um. Yes.”

Tony blinked. “Yes?”

Martin nodded. “Yes,” he repeated. “Or is that too brief? Yes, I would like to be serious about this. Better?”

Tony felt a beaming smile spread across his face. “Perfect.” He stepped forward and kissed Martin, unable to hold his joy in. He'd said yes! This was an actual thing now, _they_ were an actual thing. That meant he needed to work on his vocabulary for this kind of thing, but that could wait.

“We're having sex now, right?”

“Oh yes,” agreed Martin, pulling him towards the sofa. “Uh, though, if we're serious now, doesn't it have to be boring?”

Tony made a face. “Screw that. I can't imagine sex with you ever being boring.”

They managed to prove that statement rather true over the next couple of hours, until Tony was feeling completely content and wrung out in a way that had nothing to do with Loki's new magic trick.

The couch wasn't quite big enough for Tony and Martin to lie on side-by-side, so Tony had to lie partially on top of Martin which, frankly, he wasn't complaining about. Martin had an arm tucked around him to keep him in place and had dragged a blanket over their legs.

“Okay, so, what?” said Tony into the comfortable post-coital silence. “Boyfriends? Seriously, there has to be better vocab for this. JARVIS?”

“I'm afraid that a preliminary search reveals that 'boyfriend' is the most obvious option,” said JARVIS.

Tony made an irritated noise.

Martin gave him a bit of squeeze. “Well, it's better than sweetheart.”

Tony made a face. “Beau. Ugh. Okay, point made. I can handle boyfriend.” He gave Martin a bit of a grope to prove it.

“Great,” said Martin. “So, um, what does that change?”

Tony had to think about that. “Mainly what I tell the press,” he said. “I won't give them your name, of course, but that doesn't mean they won't get it some other way. You should probably be prepared for that.”

Martin sighed. “Yeah, I thought that might be the case.”

“So, you know, if there's anything you think they might dig up, you should probably get that off your chest,” said Tony. “You know, any small thing, any part of your life that doesn't seem to make sense, any pattern of spending or-”

“Yes, fine, all right,” snapped Martin. “I get it.” He took a deep breath. “Sorry, I'm sorry, it's not your fault, it's just- It's embarrassing.”

“You want embarrassing, you should Youtube the video from New Year's 2003 some time,” said Tony. “Come on, Martin, I promise it won't make any difference to me.”

“Right,” said Martin. “Well, okay. Here it is then. Carolyn doesn't actually pay me.”

Tony had not expected that. “What? Why not? Hey, isn't that illegal?”

“No, I signed a contract,” said Martin. “It's- I just wanted to fly. I've always wanted to be a pilot and no one would employ me.” He sounded frustrated, and Tony thought he could empathise. He tried to imagine wanting to build things and not being allowed the resources to do so, and shivered. 

He rubbed his thumb over the skin of Martin's shoulder. “Okay, so, that explains the houseshare and the worrying about your budget. You're, what, living off savings or something?”

Martin laughed bitterly. “Most people don't have savings, Tony, not unless they've worked hard at getting them. I have a- uh. I use my van to move things for people, that's what I live off.”

So, Martin was a full-time pilot, but also had a second job? Tony considered that. “No,” he said. “That's not cool. Tell Carolyn to pay you.”

“She can't afford to,” said Martin through gritted teeth. “MJN doesn't make enough for that. I mean, you've seen GERTI. She's not the kind of plane people are exactly queueing up to be flown in.” He let out a sigh. “Look, it's not great, but it is what it is. I get to fly, that's all that matters, and the rest of it, well. I've coped with it for years now, it's fine.”

It wasn't _fine_. That was the last thing it was. “Okay,” said Tony. “And if I offered to help you out? Pay you enough to-”

“No,” said Martin immediately, just as Tony had known he would. “No, I can't take money from you, Tony.”

Tony sighed. “I wouldn't even notice it going, and it would really help you out,” he said. “Okay, well, what about if I give Carolyn some kind of, I don't know, business grant or something that would mean she could pay you?”

“This is why I didn't want to tell you. Well, one of the reasons. I knew you'd try and fix it, and it's not-”

“Of course I'm gonna try and fix it,” said Tony. “Come on, Martin, if there was a problem this big in my life that you could fix, wouldn't you do something?”

Martin sighed. “Yes. Yes, of course I would, I just- Please, can we leave it for now?”

Tony raised himself up on an elbow to look at Martin's face. He looked ashamed and awkward, as if worried that this conversation would be having an effect on how Tony thought of him. “For now,” he said. “Just, don't think I'll be letting it go. I know you hate charity, but I can't let you live like that when I've got so much. You must see that.”

“It's not your problem, though,” said Martin.

Tony snorted. “Of course it is. That's how these things work, don't they? Sharing problems and all that? I'm pretty sure that's in the serious relationship charter. Right along with the boring sex and the lack of supermodels, yeah?”

“We're ignoring the boring sex clause,” Martin reminded him.

“But not the supermodel one,” guessed Tony.

Martin's hand tightened against his shoulder. “Serious means exclusive,” he said. “Or at least it does to me, if you don't-”

“Course I do,” interrupted Tony, before Martin tied himself up in knots. “It's not like any supermodel ever gave a damn about my winglets.”

“They are excellent winglets,” said Martin. “They deserve to be appreciated.”

Tony gave him a kiss for that, then got a bit distracted by making out. Well, Martin was right, it could wait. They had other things to focus on now.

He ran his hand around Martin's waist as he kissed him, lazing in the knowledge that this meant just as much to Martin as it did to Tony. Christ, who knew that reciprocated emotions could feel so good?

Actually, there was just one thing he needed to say before they got seriously involved in this make out session. He pulled away from Martin's lips.

“Hey, you know this money thing doesn’t make any difference to how I feel about you, right?” he said. “Wait, no, that's not right. It does – it makes me really impressed with how dedicated you are to following your dream. I know I kinda had it easy on that one, but you haven't let anything stop you from flying, and I think that's very cool. And kinda sexy.”

Martin stared at him for a long moment, then pulled him in for another kiss. “You're too good to me,” he said.

_No,_ thought Tony. _The rest of the world isn't good enough._ Well, he'd just have to work on changing that, he thought as he settled in for a good long kiss.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Connecting the (Air)Dots](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1301635) by [rabidsamfan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rabidsamfan/pseuds/rabidsamfan)




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